Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin 


i 


CHILDREN'S   BOOK 
COLLECTION 


LIBRARY  OF  THE  V 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA       <$ 
LOS  ANGELES  n> 


UNCLE  TOM  HEARS  OF  HIS  SALE, 


ALTEMUS'    YOUNG    PEOPLE'S    LIBRARY 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN 


LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY 


BY  HARRIET  BEECHER  STOWE 


ARRANGED  FOR  YOUNG  READERS 


WITH    NINETY    ILLUSTRATIONS 


Copyright  1900  by  Henry  Altemus  Ccmoan 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY  ALTEMUS  COMPANY 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER.  P±GI 

INTRODUCTORY          .  .  .  .  .       xi 

I.   A   MAN   OF   HUMANITY          .  .  .  .7 

II.    THE   MOTHER  .  .  .  .  .13 

in.    THE   HUSBAND    AND   FATHER  .  .  .16 

IV.  AN  EVENING  IN  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  .           .19 

V-  SHOWING    THE  FEELINGS  "OF  LIVING  PROPERTY 

ON  "CHANGING  OWNERS         .  .            .26 

vi.  DISCOVERY             .            .            .  .            .35 

vn.  THE  MOTHER'S  STRUGGLE             .  .            .43 

vin.  ELIZA'S  RETREAT  .            .            .  .            .52 

IX.    IN   WHICH    IT   APPEARS   THAT   A   SENATOR   IS    BUT 

A   MAN  .  .  .  •  .62 

X.   THE    PROPERTY   IS   CARRIED   OFF    .  '  .  .74 

XI.    IN   WHICH    PROPERTY    GETS    INTO    AN    IMPROPER      ' 

STATE   OF   MIND  .  .  .  .80 

XII.    SELECT   INCIDENT   OF   LAWFUL   TRADE          .  .      87 

XIII.  THE   QUAKER   SETTLEMENT  .  .  .95 

XIV.  EVANGELINE  .....    101 
XV-    OF     TOM'S     NEW     MASTER     AND     VARIOUS     OTHER 

MATTERS          .  .  .  .    107 

XVI.    TOM^S   MISTRESS   AND   HER   OPINIONS  .  .115 

XVII.    THE   FREE   MAN'S    DEFENCE  .  .  .124 

xvin.  MISS  OPHELIA'S  EXPERIENCES  AND  OPINIONS       .  140 
xix.  MISS    OPHELIA'S  'EXPERIENCES    AND    OPINIONS, 

CONTINUED     .....    149 

W 


Ti  Contents. 

CHAPTER.  PACH 

XX.  TOPSY     ......   155 

XXI.  KENTUCK  .....    169 

xxn.  "THE    GRASS    WITHERETH  —  THE    FLOWER 

FADETH"  .....  174 
XXHI.  HENRIQUE  .....  179 
XXIV.  FORESH  ADO  WINGS  .  .  .  .185 

XXV.   THE   LITTLE  EVANGELIST  .  .  .   189 

XXVI.   DEATH    ......   193 

xxvii.  "THIS  is  THE  LAST  OF  EARTH"        .  .  202 

xxvni.  REUNION  .....  207 

XXIX.   THE  UNPROTECTED          ...  *  216 

XXX.   THE  SLAVE  WAREHOUSE  .  .  .  221 

XXXI.   THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE  f  230 

XXXII.   DARK   PLACES     .....  234 

xxxm.  CASSY    ......  240 

xxxrv.  THE  QUADROON'S  STORY          .  .  .  246 

XXXV.   LEGREE  AND  CASSY         ....   251 

XXXVI.   EMMELINE  AND   CASSY  .  '  .   255 

XXXVII.   LIBERTY  .....   260 

XXXVIII.   THE  VICTORY      .....   265 

XXXIX.   THE  STRATAGEM  ....   269 

XL.   THE  MARTYR      .....   279 

XLI.   THE   YOUNG  MASTER       .  285 

XLII.  AN  AUTHENTIC  GHOST  STORT    .  .  .   293 

XLIII.   RESULTS  .....   299 

XLIV.  THE  LIBERATOR  .  .  •  *  304 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Portrait  of  Mrs.  Harriet  B.  Stowe 
The  Shelby  Mansion 
"I  was  looking  for  Harry" 
"Walk  like  old  Uncle  Cudjoe  "  . 
"  What  ails  you  ?" 

"Isn't  the  man  mine?"  .  .  • 

"For  my  sake,  do  be  careful "    .  « 

"Pray  for  me,  Eliza  "      .  .  . 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  .  •  • 

Mose,  and  Pete,  and  Polly  .  , 

"  Only  hear  that  1 " 
"  Is  he  a  negro  trader  ?  " 
"Her  slumbering  boy"    .  .  • 

"I  ain't  going"  , 

"I  believe  she's  just  done  clared  out" 
"The  young  imps  on  the  verandah"    • 
"If  I  only  had  them"      . 
"  Sam  made  a  dive  for  the  reins  " 
"Mother  can't  eat "          .  .  . 

•  "I  shall  take  the  straight  road  " 


Frontispiece. 


PAGE 

xii 
7 
9 
11 
12 
15 
17 
18 
19 
23 
25 
27 
31 
33 
36 
37 
39 
41 
45 
47 


viii  Illustrations. 

PAGE 

"She  leaped  to  another  cake"    .  .  .  .  .49 

"Good  evening,  Mas'r  1"  .  .  .  .  .51 

"Why,  Loker,  how  are  ye?"     .  .  .  .  .55 

Sam  in  the  kitchen  .  .  .  .  ,  .60 

"Senator  Bird  was  drawing  off  his  boots"      .  .  .63 

"  He  drew  his  breath  short  "        .  .  .  .  .65 

"  I  rather  think  I  am  "      .  .  .  .  .  .71 

"Tom  sat  with  his  Testament  on  his  knee  "     •  .  .75 

"  It's  a  nasty,  mean  shame  "        .  .  .  .  .78 

"Henry  Butler,  Oaklands,  Shelby  County"    .  .  .83 

"  Where  is  your  wife,  George  ?"  .  .  .  .85 

"Put  us  two  up  togedder"          .  .  .  .  .89 

"I  don't  believe  it"          .  .  .  .  .  .91 

"  But  she  only  groaned "  .  .  .  .  .93 

"I  must  go  on"     .  .  .  .  .  .  .97 

"Her  husband  was  sobbing  "      .....    100 

"What's  little  missy's  name?"  .....    103 

"  He  caught  her  in  his  arms  "     .....    104 

"Look  up,  Tom"  .  .  .  .  .  .  .106 

"Now,  we're  ready          .  .  .   -  .  .    109 

Arrival  at  St.  Clare's  mansion      .....    Ill 

"  Puh,  you  puppy  "  ......    113 

Miss  Ophelia  .  .  .  .  .  .  .116 

"  Oh,  Tom,  you  look  so  fuuny  "  ....    117 

"Miss  Ophelia  stood  at  her  side "  .  121 

"We  are  not  yet  in  Canada"      .....    125 

"But  you  haven't  got  us"  .....    135 

"Languidly  opening  and  shutting  his  eyes"    .  .  .    139 

"  Oh,  my  dear  young  mas'r"       .....    141 

"  Seated  on  the  kitchen  floor  "    .  .  .  .  -.143 

"I  wisht  I's  dead  " .147 

"  What  funny  things  you  are  making  "  .  .  .    153 

Topsy  .  156 

"  Poor  Topsy,  why  need  you  steal  ?  "    ....    163* 


Illustrations.  ix 

PACK 

"Raising  Cain" 166 

"Well,  Chloe,  what  is  it?" 171 

"Uncle  Tom,  I'm  going  there  "  ....    175 

"There,  you  impudent  dog  "  .....  181 
"How  could  you  be  so  cruel  to  Dodo?"  .  .  .  183 

"No,  papa,  don't  deceive  yourself"      .  .  <    187 

"I  will  tell  your  master"  .  .  .  .  .191 

"Law,  Missis  !  they're  for  Miss  Eva  "  ....  195 
"I  am  going  to  leave  you"  .....  197 
"  She  threw  herself  on  the  floor "  .  .  .  .203 

"A  fatal  stab  in  the  side" 213 

"Do  plead  for  me"  ......    217 

"All  ages,  sizes  and  shades"      .....    223 

"  Where's  your  curls,  gal  ?"        .....    225 

"The  auctioneer  grows  warmer "  ....    229 

"  D'ye  see  this  fist  ?"        .  .  .  .  .  .232 

"  Trailing  wearily  behind  a  rude  wagon "         .  .  .    235 

"  Ye  see  what  ye'd  get !  "  .....    237 

"  Touch  me,  if  you  dare  !"          .  .  .  .  .243 

"Drink  all  ye  want"        ......    247 

"You're  afraid  of  me,  Simon"  .....    253 

"Singing,  dancing  or  fighting"  ....    254 

"I'll  make  ye  give  out,  though  "  ....    259 

"Eliza  turned  to  the  glass"         .  .  .  .  .262 

"Then  I  shall  do  it!"        .  .  .  .  .  ,267 

"Walking  right  up  to  your  bed"  ....    273 

"  The  hunt  is  begun "        .  .  .  .  .  .277 

"Give  it  to  him !"  .  .  .  .  .  .282 

"  We's  been  awful  wicked  to  ye  "          ....    283 

"Oh,  Mas'r  George,  ye're  too  late' '       ....    289 

"Witness,  eternal  God"  .  .  .  .  .  .292 

"It  stood  still  by  his  bed"          .  .  .  .  .295 

"Depend  on  yourself,  my  son  "  ....    301 

"We  don't  want  to  be  no  freer"  ....    307 


INTRODUCTORY. 


No  apology  is  necessary  for  placing  a  carefully-prepared 
edition  of  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  in  the  hands  of  the  young 
people  of  America.  The  wonderful  story,  with  its  striking 
characters,  wealth  of  incident,  and  lofty  tone  of  benevo- 
lence and  humanity,  is  as  full  of  fascination  to-day  as  in 
the  times  for  which  it  was  written. 

All  the  old  friends  are  here — Uncle  Tom  and  Eva,  Topsy 
and  Miss  Ophelia,  St.  Clare  and  George  Harris,  Legree  and 
Tom  Loker.  Eliza's  escape  over  the  floating  ice  with  her 
child,  the  slave  hunt  in  the  swamp,  the  heroic  stand  of 
the  fugitives  and  their  Quaker  friends,  the  horrors  of  the 
slave  market — all  the  incidents  that  the  author  has  set  in 
such  effective  contrast  are  here  to  delight  and  instruct. 

"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  has  been  translated  into  almost 
all  the  civilized  languages  of  the  world,  and  into  some  as 
yet  only  half  civilized ;  yet  it  has  never  been  in  greater 
demand  than  at  the  present  time.  Of  it  the  poet  Long- 
fellow wrote : 

'  "  It  is  one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  recorded  in  literary 
history,  to  say  nothing  of  the  higher  triumph  of  its  moral 
effect." 

The  author's  own  words  were: 

"  I  could  not  control  the  story ;  it  wrote  itself  I " 


(Ill) 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN: 

OR 

LIFE  AMONG  THE  LOWLY. 
CHAPTER  I. 

A    MAN    OF    HUMANITY. 

ONE  chilly  day  in  February,  two  gentlemen  were  sit- 
ting in  a  well-furnished  room,  in  a  Kentucky 
town,  discussing  some  subject  with  great  earnest- 
ness.   One  of  the  parties,  however,  did  not  seem  to  be  a 
gentleman  when  critically  examined.     He  was  short  and 
thick-set,  with  coarse  features  and  a  swaggering  air;  un- 
grammatical  and  sometimes  profane  in  his  speech.    His 
companion,  Mr.  Shelby,  had  the  appearance  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  the  arrangements  of  the  house  indicated  easy 
and  even  opulent  circumstances. 

"That  is  the  way  I  should  arrange  the  matter/'  said  Mr, 
Shelby. 


8  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

"I  can't  make  trade  that  way — I  positively  can't,  Mr. 
Shelby,"'  said  the  other. 

"Why,  the  fact  is,  Haley,  Tom  is  an  uncommon  fellow; 
he  is  certainly  worth  that  sum  anywhere, — steady,  honest, 
capable,  manages  my  whole  farm  like  a  clock." 

"You  mean  honest,  as  niggers  go,"  said  Haley. 

"Xo;  I  mean,  really,  Tom  is  a  good,  steady,  sensible, 
pious  fellow.  He  got  religion  at  a  camp-meeting,  four 
years  ago;  and  I  believe  he  really  did  get  it.  I've  trusted 
him,  since  then,  with  everything  I  have, — money,  house, 
horses, — and  let  him  come  and  go  round  the  country;  and 
I  always  found  him  true  and  square  in  everything." 

"Some  folks  don't  believe  there  is  pious  niggers,  Shelby/*! 
said  Haley. 

"Well,  Tom's  got  the  real  article,  if  ever  a  fellow  had/' 
rejoined  the  other.  "'Why,  last  fall,  I  let  him  go  to  Cin- 
cinnati alone,  to  do  business  for  me,  and  bring  home  five 
hundred  dollars.  I  am  sorry  to  part  with  Tom.  You 
ought  to  let  him  cover  the  whole  balance  of  the  debt;  and 
you  would,  Haley,  if  }^ou  had  any  conscience." 

"Well,  I  've  got  just  as  much  conscience  as  any  man  in 
the  business  can  afford  to  keep ;  but  this,  yer  see,  is  a  leetle 
too  hard  on  a  fellow — a  leetle  too  hard."  The  trader 
sighed  contemplatively. 

"Well,  then,  Haley,  how  will  you  trade?"  said  Mr.  Shel-| 
by,  after  an  uneasy  interval  of  silence. 

"Well,  haven't  you  a  boy  or  gal  that  you  could  throw  in 
with  Tom?" 

"Hum ! — none  that  I  could  well  spare.  I  don't  like  part- 
ing with  any  of  my  hands,  that's  a  fact." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


Here  the  door  opened,  and  a  small  quadroon  boy,  be- 
tween four  and  five  years  of  age,  entered  the  room. 

"Come  here,  Jim  Crow,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "Now,  Jim, 
show  this  gentleman  how  you  can  dance  and  sing."  The 


"I  was  looking  for  Harry." 

boy  commenced  one  of  those  wild,  grotesque  songs  common 
among  the  negroes,  in  a  rich,  clear  voice. 

"Bravo !"  said  Haley. 

"Now,  Jim,  walk  like  old  Uncle  Cudjoe,  when  he  has  the 
rheumatism,"  said  his  master. 


10  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Instantly  the  child  assumed  the  appearance  of  deformity 
and  distortion,  as,  with  his  back  humped  up,  and  his 
master's  stick  in  his  hand,  he  hobbled  about  the  room,  his 
childish  face  drawn  into  a  doleful  pucker,  and  spitting 
from  right  to  left,  in  imitation  of  an  old  man. 

"Now,  Jim,"  said  his  master,  "show  us  how  old  Elder 
Bobbins  leads  the  psalm."  The  boy  drew  his  chubby  face 
down  to  a  formidable  length,  and  commenced  intoning  a 
psalm  tune  through  his  nose,  with  imperturbable  gravity. 

"Bravo!  what  a  young  'un!"  said  Haley.  "Tell  you 
what,"  said  he,  "fling  in  that  chap,  and  I'll  settle  the  busi- 
ness !" 

At  this  moment,  the  door  was  pushed  gently  open,  and 
a  young  quadroon  woman,  apparently  about  twenty-five, 
entered  the  room. 

"Well,  Eliza?"  said  her  master. 

"I  was  looking  for  Harry,  please,  sir." 

"Well,  take  him  away,  then,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"By  Jupiter/'  said  the  trader,  "there's  an  article,  now! 
You  might  make  your  fortune  on  that  ar  gal  in  Orleans, 
any  day." 

"I  don't  want  to  make  my  fortune  on  her,"  said  Mr, 
Shelb}%  dryly. 
-  "Come,  how  will  you  trade  about  the  gal?" 

"Mr.  Haley,  she  is  not  to  be  sold,"  said  Shelby.  "My 
wife  would  not  par,t  with  her  for  her  weight  in  gold." 

"Ay,  ay!  women  always  say  such  things,  'cause  they 
ha'nt  no  sort  of  calculation,  I  reckon." 

"I  tell  you,  Haley,  this  must  not  be  spoken  of;  I  say  no, 
and  I  mean  no,"  said  Shelby. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


11 


"Well,  you'll  let  me  have  the  boy,  though/'  said  the 
trader. 

"What  on  earth  can  vou  want  with  the  child?"  said 
Shelby. 

"Why,  I've  got  a  friend  that's  going  into  this  yer  branch 
of  the  business — wants  to  buy  up  handsome  boys  to  raise 
for  the  market.  They  fetch  a  good  sum." 

"I  would  rather  not  sell  him,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  thought- 
fully, "but—" 

"What  do  you  say?" 

"I  '11  think  the  matter 
over,  and  talk  with  my 
wife.  Call  up  this  even- 
ing, between  six  and  sev- 
en, and  you  shall  have  my 
answer,"  said  Mr.  Shelby, 
and  the  trader  bowed 
himself  out  of  the  apart- 
ment. 

Mr.  Shelby  was  a  fair 
average  kind  of  man, 
good-natured  and  kindly, 
and  disposed  to  easy  in- 
dulgence of  those  around 
him,  and  there  had  never 
been  a  lack  of  anything 
which  might  contribute 
to  the  physical  comfort 
of  the  negroes  on  his  es- 
tate. He  had,  however,  "Walk  like  old  uncle  Cu<«oe." 
speculated,  largely  and  quite  loosely;  had  involved  himself 


12 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


deeply,  and  his  notes  to  a  large  amount  had  come  into  the 
hands  of  Hale}'. 

Now,  it  had  happened  that  Eliza  had  caught  enough  of 
the  conversation  to  know  that  a  trader  was  making  offers 
to  her  master  for  somebody. 

She  would  gladly  have  stopped  at  the  door  to  listen,  as 
she  came  out;  but  her  mistress  just  then  calling,  she  was 
obliged  to  hasten  away. 

"Eliza,  girl,  what  ails  you  to-day  ?"  said  her  mistress. 

Eliza  started.  "0,  mis- 
sis I"  she  'said,  raising  her 
eyes;  then  burst  into 
tears. 

"Why,  Eliza,  child! 
what  ails  you?"  said  her 
mistress. 

"0!  missis,  missis,"  said 
Eliza,  "there's  been  a  tra- 
der talking  with  master  in 
the  parlor!  Do  you  sup- 
pose mas'r  would  sell  my 
Harry?"  And  the  poor 
creature  sobbed  convulsively.  • 

"Sell  him !  No,  you  foolish  girl !  You  know  your  master 
never  deals  with  those  Southern  traders,  and  never  means 
to  sell  any  of  his  servants,  as  long  as  they  behave  well." 

Reassured  by  her  mistress'  confident  tone,  Eliza  laughed 
at  her  own  fears. 


"What  ails  you?" 


Life  'Among  tEe  Eowly.  13 


CHAPTEE  II. 

THE  MOTHER. 

ELIZA  had  been  brought  up  by  her  mistress,  from 
girlhood,  as  a  petted  and  indulged  favorite.  She 
was  a  beautiful  quadroon  and  was  married  to  a 
bright  and  talented  young  mulatto  man  by  the  name  of 
George  Harris,  a  slave  on  a  neighboring  estate. 

This  young  man  had  been  hired  out  by  his  master  to 
work  in  a  bagging  factory,  where  his  adroitness  and  in- 
genuity caused  him  to  be  considered  the  first  hand  in  the 
place.  He  had  invented  a  machine  for  cleaning  the  hemp, 
which,  considering  the  education  and  circumstances  of  the 
inventor,  displayed  quite  as  much  mechanical  genius  as 
Whitney's  cotton-gin.  Nevertheless,  as  this  young  man 
was  in  the  eye  of  the  law  not  a  man,  but  a  thing,  all  these 
superior  qualifications  were  subject  to  the  control  of  a 
vulgar,  narrow-minded,  tyrannical  master.  This  same  gen- 
tleman, having  heard  of  the  fame  of  George's  invention, 
took  a  ride  over  to  the  factory,  to  see  what  this  intelligent 
chattel  had  been  about. 

He  was  shown  over  the  factory  by  George,  who  talked  so 
fluentty,  and  held  himself  so  erect,  that  his  master  began 
to  feel  consciousness  of  inferiority.  Accordingly,  he  sud- 


14'  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

denly  demanded  George's  wages,  and  announced  his  inten- 
tion of  taking  him  home. 

"But,  Mr.  Harris,"  remonstrated  the  manufacturer, 
"isn't  this  rather  sudden  ?" 

"What  if  it  is? — isn't  the  man  mine?" 

"But,  sir,  he  seems  peculiarly  adapted  to  this  business." 

"Dare  say  he  may  be;  never  was  much  adapted  to  any- 
thing that  I  set  him  about,  I'll  be  bound." 

"But  only  think  of  his  inventing  this  machine,"  inter- 
posed one  of  the  workmen,  rather  unluckily. 

"0  yes ! — a  machine  for  saving  work,  is  it  ?  He'd  invent 
that,  I'll  be  bound ;  let  a  nigger  alone  for  that,  any  time. 
They  are  all  labor-saving  machines  themselves,  every  one 
of  'em.  No,  he  shall  tramp!" 

George  stood  like  one  transfixed.  He  folded  his  arms, 
tightly  pressed  in  his  lips,  but  a  whole  volcano  of  bitter 
feelings  burned  in  his  bosom.  Fearing  that  he  would  make 
matters  worse,  his  employer  said: 

"Go  with  him  for  the  present,  George;  we'll  try  to  help 
you  yet." 

George  was  taken  home,  and  put  to  the  meanest  drudg- 
ery of  the  farm. 

The  manufacturer,  true  to  his  word,  visited  Mr.  Harris 
a  week  or  two  after  George  had  been  taken  away,  and  tried 
every  possible  inducement  to  lead  him  to  restore  him  to  his 
former  employment. 

"You  needn't  trouble  yourself  to  talk  any  longer,"  he 
said,  doggedly ;  "I  know  my  own  business,  sir.  It  Js  a  free 
country,  sir;  the  man 's  mine,  and  I  do  what  I  please  with 
him,— that 's  it !" 

And  so  fell  George's  last  hope; — nothing  before  him  but 


" Isn't  the  man  mine?" 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


15 


1<  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  «r 

a  life  of  toil  and  drudgery,  rendered  more  bitter  by  every 
little  smarting  vexation  and  indignity  which  tyrannical 
ingenuity  could  devise. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  HUSBAND  AND  FATHER. 

ELIZA  stood  in  the  verandah,  when  a  hand  was  laid 
on  her  shoulder.  She  turned,  and  a  bright  smile 
lighted  up  her  fine  eyes. 

"George,  is  it  you  ?  How  you  frightened  me !  Well ;  I 
am  so  glad  you  's  come !  Missis  is  gone  to  spend  the  after- 
noon ;  so  come  into  my  little  room,  and  we  '11  have  the 
time  all  to  ourselves. 

"How  glad  I  am! — why  don't  you  smile? — and  look  at 
Harry — how  he  grows.  Isn't  he  beautiful?"  said  Eliza, 
lifting  his  long  curls  and  kissing  him. 

"I  wish  he'd  never  been  born!"  said  George,  bitterly. 
"I  wish  I  'd  never  been  born  myself !" 

"George !  George !  how  can  you  talk  so  ?  What  dread- 
ful thing  has  happened,  or  is  going  to  happen  ?  I  'm  sure 
we  've  been  very  happy,  till  lately." 

"So  we  have,  dear,"  said  George.  "I  have  been  careful, 
and  I  have  been  patient,  but  it 's  growing  worse  and  worse; 
flesh  and  blood  can't  bear  it  any  longer." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


17 


"It  was  only  yesterday/'  said  George,  "as  I  was  busy 
loading  stones  into  a  cart  that  young  Mas'r  Tom  stood 
there,  slashing  his  whip  so  near  the  horse  that  the  creature 
was  frightened.  I  asked  him  to  stop,  as  pleasant  as  I  could, 
— he  just  kept  right  on.  I  begged  him  again,  and  then  he 


"For  my  sake,  do  be  careful. 


turned  on  me,  and  began  striking  me.  I  held  his  hand,  and 
then  he  screamed  and  kicked  and  ran  to  his  father,  and 
told  him  that  I  was  fighting  him.  He  came  in  a  rage,  and 
said  he  M  teach  me  who  was  my  master ;  and  he  tied  me  to 
a  tree,  and  cut  switches  for  young  master,  and  told  him 


18 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


that  he  might  whip  me  till  he  was  tired; — and  he  did  do 
it!  Yesterday  he  told  me  that  I  should  take  Mina  for  a 
wife,  and  settle  down  in  a  cabin  with  her,  or  he  would  sell 
me  down  river/' 

"Why — but  you  were  married  to  me,  by  the  minister,  as 
much  as  if  you  'd  been  a  white  man!"  said  Eliza,  simply. 

"Don't  you  know  a  slave  can't  be  married?  There  is  no 
law  in  this  country  for  that;  I  can't  hold  you  for  my  wife. 

if  he  chooses  to  part  us. 
So,  Eliza,  my  girl,"  said 
the  husband,  mournfully, 
"bear  up,  now;  and  good- 
by,  for  I'm  going." 

"Going,  George!    Going 
where?" 

"To  Canada,"  said  he; 
and  when  I'm  there,  I'll 
buy  you;  that's  all  the 
hope  that's  left  us.  You 
have  a  kind  master,  that 
"Pray  for  me,  Eliza."  won't  refuse  to  sell  you. 

I  '11  buy  ycu  and  the  boy — God  helping  me,  I  will!" 

"0,  George,  for  my  sake,  do  be  careful !  Don't  do  any- 
thing wicked;  don't  lay  hands  on  yourself,  or  anybody 
else !  You  are  tempted  too  much — too  much ;  but  don't — 
go  you  must — but  go  carefully,  prudently;  pray  God  to 
help  you." 

"Well,  then,  Eliza,  hear  my  plan.  I  've  got  some  prep- 
arations made, — and  there  are  those  that  will  help  me; 
and,  in  the  course  of  a  week  or  so,  I  shall  be  among  the 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


19 


missing,  some  day.  Pray  for  me,  Eliza ;  perhaps  the  good 
Lord  will  hear  you." 

"0,  pray  yourself,  George,  and  go  trusting  in  Him;  then 
you  won't  do  anything  wicked." 

"Well,  now,  good-by,"  said  George,  holding  Eliza's 
hands,  and  gazing  into  her  eyes,  without  moving.  They 
stood  silent ;  then  there  were  last  words,  and  sobs,  and  bit- 
ter weeping, — and  the  husband  and  wife  were  parted. 


CHAPTER 


AN  EVENING  IN  UNCLE  TOM  S  CABIN* 

THE  cabin  of  Uncle  Tom  was  a  small  log  building, 
close  adjoining  to  r_ 
"the  house,"  as 
the  negro  designates  his 
master's  dwelling.  In  front 
it  had  a  neat  garden  patch, 
where,  every  summer, 
strawberries,  raspberries, 
and  a  variety  of  fruits  and 
vegetables,  flourished  un- 
der careful  tending.  The 

Whole  front  of  it  Was  COV-  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 

ered  by  a  large  scarlet  bigonia  and  a  native  mutiflora 
rose. 


20  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

The  evening  meal  at  the  house  is  over,  and  Aunt  Chloe. 
who  presided  over  its  preparation  as  head  cook,  has  left  to 
inferior  officers  in  the  kitchen  the  business  of  clearing 
away  and  washing  dishes,  and  come  out  into  her  own  snug 
territories,  to  "get  her  ole  man's  supper."  A  round,  black, 
shining  face  is  hers.  Her  whole  plump  countenance  beams 
with  satisfaction  and  contentment  from  under  her  well- 
starched  checked  turban,  for  Aunt  Chloe  was  acknowl- 
edged to  be  the  best  cook  in  the  neighborhood. 

In  one  corner  of  the  cottage  stood  a  bed,  covered  neatly 
with  a  snowy  spread;  and  by  the  side  of  it  was  a  piece  of 
carpeting,  of  some  considerable  size.  In  the  other  corner 
was  a  bed  of  much  humbler  pretensions,  and  evidently  de- 
signed for  use. 

On  a  rough  bench  in  the  corner,  a  couple  of  woolly- 
headed  boys,  with  glistening  black  eyes  and  fat  shining 
cheeks,  were  busy  in  superintending  the  first  walking  oper- 
ations of  the  baby.  » 

A  table,  somewhat  rheumatic  in  its  limbs,  was  drawn 
out  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  at  this  table  was  seated  Uncle 
Tom,  Mr.  Shelby's  best  hand — the  hero  of  our  story.  He 
was  a  large,  broad-chested,  powerfully  made  man  of  a  full 
glossy  black,  and  a  face  whose  truly  African  features  were 
characterized  by  an  expression  of  grave  and  steady  good 
sense,  united  with  much  kindliness  and  benevolence. 

He  was  very  busily  intent  on  a  slate  lying  before  him,  on 
which  he  was  carefully  and  slowly  endeavoring  to  accom- 
plish a  copy  of  some  letters,  in  which  operation  he  was 


Life  Among  the  Lowly  21 

overlooked  by  young  Mas'r  George,  a  smart,  bright  boy  of 
thirteen. 

"Not  that  way,  Uncle  Tom, — not  that  way,"  said  he. 
briskly,  as  Uncle  Tom  laboriously  brought  up  the  tail  of. 
his  "g"  the  wrong  side  out;  "that  makes  a  'q/  you  see." 

"La  sakes,  now,  does  it?"  said  Uncle  Tom,  looking  with 
a  respectful,  admiring  air,  as  his  young  teacher  flourish- 
ingly scrawled  q's  and  g's  innumerable  for  his  edification: 
and  then,  taking  the  pencil  in  his  big,  heavy  fingers,  he 
patiently  re-commenced. 

"How  easy  white  folks  al'us  does  things!"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  regarding  }roung  Master  George  with  pride.  "The 
way  he  can  write,  now !  and  read,  too !  and  then  to  come 
out  here  evenings  and  read  his  lessons  to  us, — it 's  mighty 
interest  in' !" 

"But,  Aunt  Chloe,  I'm  getting  mighty  hungry,"  said 
George.  "Is  n't  that  cake  in  the  skillet  almost  done  ?" 

"Mose  done,  Mas'r  George,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  lifting  the 
lid  and  peeping  in, — "browning  beautiful — a  real  lovely 
brown." 

And  with  this,  Aunt  Chloe  whipped  the  cover  off  the 
bake-kettle,  and  disclosed  to  view  a  neatly-baked  pound 
cake,  of  which  no  city  confectioner  need  to  have  been 
ashamed. 

"Here  you,  Mose  and  Pete !  get  out  de  way,  you  niggers ! 
Get  away,  Polly,  honey, — mammy  '11  give  her  baby  some- 
fin,  by  and  by.  Xow,  Mas'r  George,  you  jest  take  off  dem 
books,  and  set  down  now  with  my  old  man,  and  I  '11  take  '.ip 
de  sausages,  and  have  de  first  griddle  full  of  cakes  on  your 
plates  in  less  dan  no  time." 

"They  wanted  me  to  come  to  supper  in  the  house,"  said 


22  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

George;  "but  I  knew  what  was  what  too  well  for  thai.} 
Aunt  Chloe." 

"So  you  did — so  you  did,  honey/'  said  Aunt  Chloe,  heap- 
ing the  smoking  batter-cakes  on  his  plate;  "you  know'd 
your  old  aunty  'd  keep  the  best  for  you." 

"Now  for  the  cake,"  said  Mas'r  George,  flourishing  a 
large  knife  over  the  article  in  question. 

"La  bless  you,  Mas'r  George!"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  with 
earnestness,  catching  his  arm,  "you  would  n't  be  for  cuttin' 
it  with  dat  ar  great  heavy  knife!  Smash  all  down — spile 
all  de  pretty  raise  of  it.  Here,  I  've  got  a  thin  old  knife. 
I  keeps  sharp  a  purpose.  Dar  now,  see !  comes  apart  light 
as  a  feather!  Now  eat  away — you  won't  get  anything  to 
beat  dat  ar." 

"Tom  Lincon  says,"  said  George,  speaking  with  his 
mouth  full,  "that  their  Jinny  is  a  better  cook  than  you." 

"Dem  Lincons  an't  much  'count,  no  way!"  said  Aunt 
Chloe,  contemptuously;  "I  mean,  set  along  side  our  folks." 

"Well,  though,  I  've  heard  you  say,"  said  George,  "that 
Jinny  was  a  pretty  fair  cook." 

"So  I  did,"  said  Aunt  Chloe, — "I  may  say  dat.  Good, 
plain,  common  cookin',  Jinny  '11  do ; — make  a  good  pone  o' 
bread, — bile  her  taters  far, — her  corn  cakes  is  n't  extra, 
not  extra  now,  Jinny's  corn  cakes  is  n't,  but  then  they  's 
far, — but,  Lor,  come  to  de  higher  branches,  and  what  can 
she  do  ?  Why,  she  makes  pies — sartin  she  does ;  but  what 
kinder  crust  ?  Why,  I  should  n't  sleep  a  wink  for  a  week, 
if  I  had  a  batch  of  pies  like  dem  ar." 

"I  suppose  Jinny  thinks  they  are  ever  so  nice,"  said 
George. 

"Jinny  don't  know.    She  can't  be  spected  to  know !    Ah ! 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


23 


Mas'r  George,  you  does  n't  know  half  your  privileges  in  yer 
family  and  bringin'  up  I" 

"I  'm  sure,  Aunt  Chloe,  I  understand  all  my  pie  and  pud- 
ding privileges/'  said  George.  "I  mean  to  ask  Tom  here, 
some  day  next  week,  and  you  do  your  prettiest,  Aunt 


Mose,  and  Pete,  and  Polly. 

Oiloe,  and  we  '11  make  him  stare.  Won't  we  make  him  eat 
so  he  won't  get  over  it  for  a  fortnight  ?" 

"Yes,  yes — sartin,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  delighted;  "you'll 
see." 

By  this  time  Master  George  had  arrived  at  that  pass 
when  he  really  could  not  eat  another  morsel  and,  therefore, 
he  was  at  leisure  to  notice  the  pile  of  woolly  heads  and  glis- 


24  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

tening  eyes  which  were  regarding  him  from  the  opposite 
corner. 

"Here,  you  Mose,  Pete,"  he  said,  breaking  off  liberal 
bits,  and  throwing  it  at  them;  "you  want  some,  do  you? 
Come,  Aunt  Chloe,  bake  them  some  cakes." 

"Well,  now,  I  hopes  you  're  done,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  who 
had  been  busy  in  pulling  out  a  rude  box  of  a  trundle  bed; 
"and  now,  you  Mose  and  you  Pete,  get  into  thar;  for  we 's 
goin'  to  have  the  meetin'." 

"0  mother,  we  don't  wanter.  We  wants  to  sit  up  to 
meetin, — meetin's  is  so  curis.  We  likes  them." 

"La,  Aunt  Chloe,  shove  it  under,  and  let  'em  sit  up," 
said  Mas'r  George,  decisively. 

Aunt  Chloe,  having  thus  saved  appearances,  seemed 
highly  delighted  to  push  the  thing  under,  saying,  as  she 
did  so,  "Well,  mebbe  't  will  do  'em  some  good." 

"What  we's  to  do  for  cheers,  now,  I  declar'  I  don't 
know,"  said  Aunt  Chloe. 

"Old  Uncle  Peter  sung  both  de  legs  out  of  dat  oldest 
cheer,  last  week."  suggested  Mose. 

"You  go  'long!  1 11  boun'  you  pulled  'em  out;  some  o' 
your  shines,"  said  Aunt  Chloe. 

"Well,  it  '11  stand,  if  it  only  keeps  jam  up  agin  de  wall!" 
said  Mose. 

"Den  Uncle  Peter  mns'n't  sit  in  it,  cause  he  al'ays 
hitches  when  he  gets  a  singing.  He  hitched  pretty  nigh 
across  de  room,  t'  other  night,"  said  Pete. 

"Well,  ole  man,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "you  11  have  to  tote 
in  them  ar  bar'ls." 

Two  empty  casks  were  rolled  into  the  cabin,  and  secured 
from  rolling,  by  stones  on  each  side,  boards  were  laid 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


25 


across  them,  which  arrangement,  together  with  the  turning 
down  of  certain  tubs  and  pails  and  the  disposing  of  the 
rickety  chairs,  at  last  completed  the  preparation. 

"Mas'r  George  is  such  a  beautiful  reader,  now,  I  know 
he  yll  stay  to  read  for  us,"  said  Aunt  Chloe;  "'pears  like 
't  be  so  much  more  interestin'." 

The  room  was  soon  filled  with  a  motley  assemblage,  from 
the  old  gray-headed  patriarch  of  eighty  to  the  young  girl 
and  lad  of  fifteen.  A  few  of  the  worshippers  belonged  to 
families  hard  by,  who 
had  got  permission  to  at- 
tend, and  after  a  while 
the  singing  commenced, 
to  the  evident  delight 
of  all  present.  The  words 
were  sometimes  the  well- 
known  and  common 
hymns  sung  in  the 
churches  about,  and 
sometimes  of  a  wilder, 
more  indefinite  charac-  "Only  hear  that!" 

ter,  picked  up  at  camp-meetings,  and,  as  they  sung,  some 
laughed,  and  some  cried,  and  some  clapped  hands,  or  shook 
hands  rejoicingly  with  each  other. 

Various  exhortations,  or  relations  of  experience,  fol- 
lowed, and  intermingled  with  the  singing,  and  Mas'r 
George,  by  request,  read  the  last  chapters  of  "Revelation, 
often  interrupted  by  such  exclamations  as  "The  sakes 
now!"  "Only "hear  that!"  "Jest  think  on 't !"  "Is  all  that 
a  comin'  sure  enough  ?" 

Uncle  Tom  wap  9.  sort  of  patriarch  in  religious  matters, 


26  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

in  the  neighborhood.  Having,  natural^,  a  greater  breadth 
and  cultivation  of  mind  than  his  companions,  he  was 
looked  up  to  with  great  respect,  as  a  sort  of  minister  among 
them;  and  the  simple,  hearty,  sincere  style  of  his  exhorta- 
tions might  have  edified  even  better  educated  persons. 
Nothing  could  exceed  the  touching  simplicity,  and  child- 
like earnestness,  of  his  prayers,  enriched  with  the  language 
of  Scripture,  which  seemed  so  entirely  to  have  wrought  it- 
self  into  his  being,  as  to  have  become  a  part  of  himself, 
and  to  drop  from  his  lips  unconsciously 


CHAPTER  T. 

SHOWING      THE      FEELINGS      OF      LIVING      PROPERTY      ON 
CHANGING     OWNERS. 

AFTER  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  had  retired  to  their 
apartment  for  the  night,  Mrs.  Shelby  said, 
carelessly, 

"By  the  by,  Arthur,  who  was  that  low-bred  fellow  that 
you  lugged  in  to  our  dinner-table  to-day  ?" 

"Haley  is  his  name,"  said  Shelby?  turning  himself  rather 
uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Haley!    Who  is  he,  and  what  may  be  his  business  here, 
pray?" 

"Well,  he  9s  a  man  that  I  transacted  some  business  with, 
last  time  I  was  at  Natchez,"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


"Is  he  a  negro  trader  ?"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  noticing  a  cer- 
tain embarrassment  in  her  husband's  manner. 

"Why,  my  dear,  what  put  that  into  your  head?"  said 
Shelby,  looking  up. 


"Is  he  a  negro  trader?" 


"Nothing, — only  Eliza  came  in  here,  after  dinner,  in  a 
great  worry,  crying  and  taking  on,  and  said  you  were  talk- 
ing with  a  trader,  and  that  she  heard  him  make  an  offer 
for  her  boy— the  ridiculous  little  goose!" 


28  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"She  did,  hey?"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"I  told  Eliza/'  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "that  she  was  a  little 
fool  for  her  pains,  and  that  you  never  had  anything  to  do 
with  that  sort  of  persons.  Of  course,  I  knew  you  never 
meant  to  sell  any  of  our  people, — least  of  all,  to  such  a 
fellow/' 

"Well,  Emily,"  said  her  husband,  "so  I  have  always  felt 
and  said;  but  the  fact  is  I  shall  have  to  sell  some  of  my 
hands." 

"To  that  creature  ?    You  cannot  be  serious." 

"I  'm  sorry  to  say  that  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "I  've 
agreed  to  sell  Tom." 

"What!  our  Tom? — that  good,  faithful  creature! — 
been  your  faithful  servant  from  a  boy !  I  can  believe  now 
that  you  could  sell  little  Harry,  poor  Eliza's  only  child!" 
said  Mrs.  Shelby,  in  a  tone  between  grief  and  indignation. 

"Well,  since  you  must  know  all,  it  is  so.  I  have  agreed 
to  sell  Tom  and  Harry  both." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "forgive  me.  I  have  been 
hasty.  I  was  surprised,  and  entirely  unprepared  for  this. 
Tom  is  a  noble-hearted,  faithful  fellow,  if  he  is  black.  I 
do  believe  that  if  he  were  put  to  it,  he  would  lay  down  his 
life  for  you." 

"I  know  it, — I  dare  say; — but  what 's  the  use  of  all  this? 
— I  can't  help  myself." 

"Why  not  make  a  pecuniary  sacrifice?  I  am  willing  to 
bear  my  part  of  the  inconvenience.  0,  I  have  tried  to  do 
my  duty  to  these  poor,  simple,  dependent  creatures.  I  have 
taught  them  the  duties  of  the  family,  of  parent  and  child, 
and  husband  and  wife;  and  how  can  I  bear  to  have  this 
open  acknowledgment  that  we  care  for  no  tie,  no  duty,  no 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  29 

relation,  however  sacred,  compared  with  money?  I  have 
talked  with  Eliza  about  her  boy — her  duty  to  him  as  a 
Christian  mother,  to  watch  over  him,  pray  for  him,  and 
bring  him  up  in  a  Christian  way ;  and  now  what  can  I  say, 
if  you  tear  him  away,  and  sell  him,  soul  and  bod}7,  to  a  pro- 
fane, unprincipled  man,  just  to  save  a  little  money  ?" 

"I  'm  sorry  you  feel  so  about  it,  Emily, — indeed  I  am/'' 
said  Mr.  Shelby;  "and  I  respect  your  feelings.  Haley  has 
come  into  possession  of  a  mortgage,  which,  if  I  don't  clear 
off  with  him  directly,  Avill  take  everything  before  it.  I  've 
raked,  and  scraped,  and  borrowed,  and  all  but  begged, — 
and  the  price  of  these  two  was  needed  to  make  up  the  bal- 
ance, and  I  had  to  give  them  up.  Haley  fancied  the  child ; 
he  agreed  to  settle  the  matter  that  way,  and  no  other.  I 
was  in  his  power,  and  had  to  do  it.  If  you  feel  so  to  have 
them  sold,  would  it  be  any  better  to  have  all  sold  ?" 

Mrs.  Shelby  stood  like  one  stricken.    Finally,  she  said : 

"This  is  God's  curse  on  slavery! — a  bitter,  bitter,  most 
accursed  thing !— a  curse  to  the  master  and  a  curse  to  the 
slave !  I  was  a  fool  to  think  I  could  make  anything  good 
out  of  such  a  deadly  evil.  It  is  a  sin  to  hold  a  slave  under 
laws  like  ours, — I  always  felt  it  was, — I  always  thought  so 
when  I  was  a  girl, — I  thought  so  still  more  after  I  joined 
the  church;  but  I  thought  I  could  gild  it  over, — I 
thought,  by  kindness,  and  care,  and  instruction,  I  could 
make  the  condition  of  mine  better  than  freedom — fool  that 
I  was!" 

"I'm  sorry,  very  sorry,  Emily,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "I'm 
sorry  this  takes  hold  of  you  so;  but  it  will  do  no  good. 
The  fact  is,  Emily,  the  thing's  done;  the  bills  of  sale  are 


30  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

already  signed,  and  in  Haley's  hands;  and  you  must  be 
thankful  it  is  no  worse." 

There  was  one  listener-  to  this  conversation  whom  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Shelby  little  suspected. 

Communicating  with  their  apartment  was  a  large  closet, 
opening  by  a  door  into  the  outer  passage.  When  Mrs. 
Shelby  had  dismissed  Eliza  for  the  night,  her  feverish  and 
excited  mind  had  suggested  the  idea  of  this  closet;  and 
she  had  hidden  herself  there,  and,  with  her  ear  pressed 
close  against  the  crack  of  the  door,  had  lost  not  a  word 
of  the  conversation. 

When  the  voices  died  into  silence,  she  rose  and  crept 
stealthily  away.  Pale  and  shivering  she  looked  an  entirely 
altered  being  from  the  soft  and  timid  creature  she  had 
been  hitherto.  She  moved  cautiously  along  the  entry,  and 
then  turned  and  glided  into  her  own  room,  where,  on  the 
bed,  lay  her  slumbering  boy. 

"Poor  boy!  poor  fellow!"  said  Eliza;  "they  have  sold 
you !  but  your  mother  will  save  you  yet  I" 

Then  she  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil,  and  wrote, 
hastily, 

"0,  Missis !  dear  Missis !  don't  think  me  ungrateful, — 
don't  think  hard  of  me,  any  way, — I  heard  all  you  and 
master  said  to-night.  I  am  going  to  try  to  save  my  boy — 
you  will  not  blame  me !  G  od  bless  and  reward  you  for  all 
your  kindness !" 

Hastily  folding  and  directing  this,  she  made  up  a  little 
package  of  clothing  for  her  boy,  which  she  tied  with  a 
handkerchief  firmly  round  her  waist;  and  even  in  the  ter- 
rors of  that  hour,  she  did  not  forget  to  put  in  the  little 
package  one  or  two  of  his  favorite  toys. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  31 

"Where  are  you  going,  mother?"  said  he,  as  she  drew 
near  the  bed,  with  his  little  coat  and  cap. 

"Hush,  Harr}7,"  she  said;  "musn't  speak  loud,  or  they 
will  hear  us.  A  wicked  man  was  coming  to  take  little 
Harry  away  from  his  mother,  and  carry  him  Vay  off  in 
the  dark ;  hut  mother  won't  let  him — she's  going  to  put  on 
her  little  boy's  cap  and  coat  and  run  off  with  him,  so  the 
ugly  man  can't  catch  him." 


\ 


"Her  slumbering  boy." 

Saying  these  words,  she  dressed  the  child,  and  taking 
him  in  her  arms,  she  glided  noiselessly  out,  wrapping  a 
shawl  close  round  her  child,  as,  perfectly  quiet  with  vague 
terror,  he  clung  round  her  neck. 

Old  Bruno,  a  great  Newfoundland,  rose,  with  a  low  ' 
growl,  as  she  came  near.    She  gently  spoke  his  name,  and 
the  animal  instantly  prepared  to  follow  her.    A  few  min- 

3—Uncte  Tom's  Cabin. 


33  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

utes  brought  them  to  the  window  of  Uncle  Tom's  cottage, 
and  Eliza,  stopping,  tapped  lightly  on  the  window-pane. 

The  prayer  meeting  at  Uncle  Tom's  had  been  protracted 
to  a  very  late  houT,  and  although  it  was  now  between 
twelve  and  one  o'clock,  he  and  his  worthy  helpmeet  were 
not  yet  asleep. 

"Good  Lord!  what's  that?"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  starting 
up  and  hastily  drawing  the  curtain.  "My  sakes  alive,  if 
it  ain't  'Lizy!  Get  on  your  clothes,  old  man,  quick! — 
there's  old  Bruno,  too,  a  pawin'  round;  what  on  airth! 
I'm  gwine  to  open  the  door." 

The  door  flew  open,  and  the  light  of  the  tallow  candle, 
which  Tom  tiad  hastily  lighted,  fell  on  the  haggard  face 
and  dark,  wild  eyes  of  the  fugitive. 

"Lord  bless  you ! — I'm  skeered  to  look  at  ye,  'Lizy !  Are 
ye  tuck  sick,  or  what's  come  over  ye?" 

"I'm  running  away^carrying  off  my  child — Master  sold 
him!" 

"Sold  him?"  echoed  both. 

"Yes,  sold  him!"  said  Eliza,  firmly;  "I  heard  Master  tell 
Missis  that  he  had  sold  my  Harry,  and  you,  Uncle  Tom, 
bo^h,  to  a  trader;  and  that  the  man  was  to  take  possession 
to-day." 

Tom  had  stood,  during  this  speech  like  a  man  in  a 
dream.  Slowly  and  gradually,  as  its  meaning  came  over 
him,  he  collapsed,  rather  than  seated  himself,  on  his  old 
chair,  and  sunk  his  head  down  upon  his  knees. 

"The  good  Lord  have  pity  on  us!"  said  Aunt  Chloe. 
"0!  it  don't  seem  as  if  it  was  true!  What  has  he  done, 
that  Mas'r  should  sell  him  ? 

"Well,  old  man!"  added  Aunt  Chloe,  "why  don't  you  go 


34  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

too  ?  There's  time  for  ye, — be  oft  with  'Lizy, — you've  got 
a  pass  to  come  and  go  any  time." 

Tom  slowly  raised  his  head,  and  looked  sorrowfully  but 
quietly  around,  and  said, 

"No,  no — I  an't  going.  Let  Eliza  go — it's  her  right !  I 
wouldn't  be  the  one  to  say  no — 'tan't  in  natur  for  her  to 
stay;  but  you  heard  what  she  said!  If  I  must  be  sold,  or 
all  the  people  on  the  place,  and  everything  go  to  rack,  why, 
let  me  be  sold.  Mas'r  always  found  me  on  the  spot — he 
always  will.  I  never  have  broke  trust,  nor  used  my  pass 
no  ways  contrary  to  my  word,  and  I  never  will.  It's  better 
for  me  alone  to  go,  than  to  break  up  the  place  and  sell 
all." 

"And  now,"  said  Eliza,  "I  saw  my  husband  only  this 
afternoon,  and  I  little  knew  then  what  was  to  come.  They 
have  pushed  him  to  the  very  last  standing-place,  and  he 
told  me,  to-day,  that  he  was  going  to  run  away.  Do  try, 
if  you  can,  to  get  word  to  him.  Tell  him  how  I  went,  and 
why  I  went;  and  tell  him  I'm  going  to  try  and  find  Canada. 
You  must  give  my  love  to  him,  and  tell  him,  if  I  never  ?<±e 
him  again,  to  be  as  good  as  he  can,  and  try  and  meet  me  in 
the  kingdom  of  heaven/' 

"Call  Bruno  in  there,"  she  added.  "Shut  the  door  on 
him,  poor  beast !  He  mustn't  go  with  me !" 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  35 


CHAPTER  VI. 

DISCOVERY. 

MR.  and  Mrs.  Shelby  slept  somewhat  later  than  usual, 
the  ensuing  morning. 

"I    wonder    what    keeps    Eliza/'    said    Mr.s. 
Shelby,  after  giving  her  bell  repeated  pulls,  to  no  purpose. 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  colored  boy  entered. 

"Andy,"  said  his  mistress,  "step  to  Eliza's  dftor,  and  tell 
her  I  have  rung  for  her  three  times." 

Andy  soon  returned,  with  eyes  very  wide  in  astonish- 
ment. 

"Lor,  Missis !  'Lizy's  drawers  is  all  open,  and  her  things 
all  lying  every  which  way;  and  I  believe  she's  just  done 
clared  out!" 

"Then  she  suspected  it,  and  she's  off !"  said  Mr.  Shelby. 

"The  Lord  be  thanked!"  said  Mrs.  Shelby.  "I  trust  she 
is." 

There  was  great  running  and  ejaculating,  and  opening 
and  shutting  of  doors  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
when,  at  last,  Haley  appeared,  he  was  saluted  with  the 
bad  tidings  on  every  hand.  The  young  imps  on  the  ver- 
andah were  not  disappointed  in  their  hope  of  hearing  him 
"swar,"  which  he  did  with  a  fluency  and  fervency  which 
delighted  them  all  amazingly,  as  they  ducked  and  dodged 


36 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


hither  and  thither,  to  be  out  of  the  reach  of  his  riding 
whip,  and,  all  whooping  off  together,  they  tumbled,  in  a 
pile  of  immeasurable  giggle,  on  the  withered  turf  under 


"I  believe  she's  just  done  clared  out." 

the  verandah,  where  they  kicked  up  their  heels  and  shout- 
ed to  their  full  satisfaction. 

"If  I  only  had  them!"  muttered  Haley,  between  his 
teeth. 

"But  you  ha'nt  got  'em,  though  I"  said  Andy,  with  a 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  37 

triumphant  flourish,  and  making  a  string  of  indescribable 
mouths  at  the  unfortunate  trader's  back,  when  he  was 
fairly  beyond  hearing. 

"I  say  now,  Shelby,  this  yer's  a  most  extro'rnary  busi- 
ness I"  said  Haley,  as  he  abruptly  entered  the  parlor.  "It 
seems  that  gal's  off,  with  her  young  un." 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "if  you  wish  to  communicate 
with  me,  you  must  observe  something  of  the  decorum  of  a 
gentleman.  Yes,  sir;  I  regret  to  say  that  the  young  wo- 


"The  young  imps  on  the  verandah." 

man,  excited  by  overhearing,  or  having  reported  to  her, 
something  of  this  business,  has  taken  her  child  in  the 
night,  and  made  off,  but  I  shall  feel  bound  to  give  you 
every  assistance,  in  the  use  of  horses,  servants,  etc.,  in  the 
recovery  of  your  property.  So,  in  short,  Haley,"  said  he, 
suddenly  dropping  from  the  tone  of  dignified  coolness  to 
his  ordinary  one  of  easy  frankness,  "the  best  way  for  you 
is  to  keep  good-natured  and  eat  some  breakfast,  and  we 
will  then  see  what  is  to  be  done." 


38  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Tom's  fate  was  the  topic  in  every  mouth,  everywhere; 
and  nothing  was  done  in  the  house  or  in  the  field,  but  to 
discuss  its  probable  results.  Eliza's  flight  also  added  to 
the  general  excitement. 

Black  Sam,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  from  his  being 
about  three  shades  blacker  than  any  other  son  of  ebony 
on  the  place,  was  revolving  the  matter  profoundly. 

"It's  an  ill  wind  dat  blows  nowhar, — dat  ar  a  fact,"  said 
Sam.  "Yes,  it's  an  ill  wind  blows  nowhar,"  he  repeated. 
"Now,  dar,  Tom's  down — wal,  course  der's  room  for  some 
nigger  to  be  up — and  why  not  dis  nigger? — dat's  de  idee. 
Tom,  a  ridin'  round  de  country — boots  blacked — pass  in 
his  pocket — all  grand  as  Cuffee — who  but  he  ?  Xow,  why 
shouldn't  Sam? — dat's  what  I  want  to  know." 

"Halloo,  Sam — 0  Sam!  Mas'r  wants  Bill  and  Jerry 
geared  right  up;  and  you  and  I's  to  go  with  Mas'r  Haley, 
to  look  arter  her." 

"Good,  now!  dat's  de  time  o'  day!"  said  Sam.  "It's  Sam 
dat's  called  for  in  dese  yer  times.  He's  de  nigger.  See  if 
I  don't  cotch  her,  now ;  Mas'r  '11  see  what  Sam  can  do !" 

"Ah!  but  Sam,"  said  Andy,  "you'd  better  think  twice; 
for  Missis  don't  want  her  cotched,  and  she'll  be  in  yer 
wool." 

"High!"  said  Sam,  opening  his  eyes.  "How  you  know 
dat?" 

"Heard  her  say  so,  my  own  self,  dis  blessed  mornin'. 
She  sent  me  to  see  why  'Lizy  didn't  come  to  dress  her;  and 
when  I  telled  her  she  was  off,  she  jest  ris  up,  and  ses  she, 
'The  Lord  be  praised.' " 

"Now,  sartin  I'd  a  said  that  Missis  would  a  scoured  the 
Varsal  world  after  'Lizy,"  added  Sam,  thoughtfully. 


"  'If  I  only  had  them!'  muttered  Haley." 


40  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"So  she  would/'  said  Andy;  "but  can't  ye  see  through  a 
ladder,  ye  black  nigger?  Missis  don't  want  dis  yer  Mas'r 
Haley  to  get  'Lizy's  boy;  dat's  de  go!" 

Sam,  after  a  while  appeared  with  Bill  and  Jerry  in  a 
full  canter,  and  adroitly  throwing  himself  off  before  they 
had  any  idea  of  stopping,  he  brought  them  up  alongside 
of  the  horse-post  like  a  tornado.  Haley's  horse,  which  was 
a  skittish  young  colt,  winced,  and  bounced,  and  pulled 
hard  at  his  halter. 

"Ho,  ho!"  said  Sam,  "skeery,  ar  ye?  I'll  fix  ye  now!" 
said  he,  and  then  on  pretence  of  adjusting  the  saddle,  he 
adroitly  slipped  under  it  a  sharp  little  beech  nut,  in  such 
a  manner  that  the  least  weight  brought  upon  the  saddle 
would  annoy  the  animal,  without  leaving  any  perceptible 
mark. 

"Dar!"  he  said,  rolling  his  eyes  with  an  approving  grin; 
"me  fix 'em!" 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Shelby  appeared. 

"Why  have  you  been  loitering  so,  Sam?" 

"Lord  bless  you,  Missis!"  said  Sam,  "horses  won't  be 
cotched  all  in  a  minit." 

"Well,  Sam,  you  are  to  go  with  Mr.  Haley,  to  show  him 
the  road,  and  help  him.  Be  careful  of  the  horses,  Sam; 
you  know  Jerry  was  a  little  lame  last  week;  don't  ride 
them  too  fast/' 

"Let  dis  child  alone  for  dat !"  said  Sam,  rolling  up  his 
eyes  with  a  volume  of  meaning. 

"Now,  Andy,"  said  Sam,  "you  see  I  wouldn't  be  'tall  sur- 
prised if  dat  ar  gen'leman's  critter  should  gib  a  fling,  by 
and  by,  when  he  comes  to  be  a  gettin'  up.  You  know, 
Andy,  critters  will  do  such  things.  Yer  see,"  added  Sam, 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  '41 

"yei  see,  Andy,  if  any  such  thing  should  happen  as  that 
Mas'r  Haley's  horse  should  begin  to  act  contrary,  and  cut 
up,  you  and  I  jist  lets  go  of  our'n  to  help  him,  and  we'll 
help  him — oh  yes!" 

At  this  instant,  Haley  appeared  on  the  verandah.  "Well, 
boys/'  said  he,  "look  alive  now;  we  must  lose  no  time." 

"Not  a  bit  of  him,  Mas'r!"  said  Sam,  putting  Haley's 


"Sam  made  a  dive  for  the  reins." 

rein  in  his  hand,  and  holding  his  stirrup,  while  Andy  was 
untying  the  other  two  horses. 

The  instant  Haley  touched  the  saddle,  the  mettlesome 
creature  bounded  from  the  earth  with  a  sudden  spring, 
that  threw  his  master  sprawling,  some  feet  off,  on  the  soft, 
dry  turf.  Sam  made  a  dive  for  the  reins,  but  only  suc- 
ceeded in  brushing  his  hat  into  the  horse's  eyes,  which  only 
made  matters  worse.  He  overturned  Sam,  and,  giving  a 
inort,  flourished  his  heels  in  the  air,  and  pranced  away, 


4:2  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

followed  by  Bill  and  Jerry,  whom  Andy  had  not  failed  to 
let  loose,  according  to  contract. 

Haley  ran  up  and  down,  and  cursed  and  stamped  miscel- 
laneously. Mr.  Shelby  in  vain  tried  to  shout  directions 
from  the  balcony,  and  Mrs.  Shelby  from  her  chamber  win- 
dow alternately  laughed  and  wondered. 

At  last,  about  twelve  o'clock,  Sam  appeared  triumphant, 
mounted  on  Jerry,  with  Haley's  horse  by  his  side. 

"He's  cotched!"  he  exclaimed,  triumphantly.  "If  't 
hadn't  been  for  me,  they  might  a  burst  theirselves,  all  on 
'em;  but  I  cotched  him!" 

"You!"  growled  Haley,  in  no  amiable  mood.  "If  it 
hadn't  been  for  you,  this  never  would  have  happened." 

"Lord  bless  us,  Mas'r"  said  Sam,  in  a  tone  of  the  deep- 
est concern,  "and  me  that  has  been  racin'  and  chasin'  till 
the  sweat  jest  pours  off  me!" 

"Well,  well!"  said  Haley,  "you've  lost  me  nea-  three 
hours,  with  your  cursed  nonsense.  Now  let's  be  off,  and 
have  no  more  fooling." 

Mrs.  Shebly  now  came  forward,  and,  courteously  ex- 
pressing her  concern  for  Haley's  accident,  pressed  him  to 
stay  to  dinner,  saying  that  the  cook  should  bring  it  on  the 
table  immediately;  and  Haley  allowed  himself  to  be 
pursuaded. 

"Did  yer  see  him,  Andy  ?  did  yer  see  him  ?"  said  Sam, 
when  he  had  got  fairly  beyond  the  shelter  of  the  barn. 
"0  Lor,  if  it  warn't  as  good  as  a  meetin',  now,  to  see  him 
a  dancin'  and  kickin'.  Lor,  Andy,  I  think  I  can  see  him 
now."  And  Sam  and  Andy  leaned  up  against  the  barn, 
and  laughed  to  their  hearts'  content. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  43 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  MOTHER'S  STRUGGLE. 

IT  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  a  human  creature  more 
wholly  desolate  and  forlorn  than  Eliza,  when  she 
turned  her  footsteps  from  Uncle  Tom's  cabin. 

Her  husband's  suffering  and  dangers,  and  the  danger  of 
her  child,  all  blended  in  her  mind,  with  a  confused  and 
stunning  sense  of  the  risk  she  was  running,  in  leaving  the 
only  home  she  had  ever  known,  and  cutting  loose  from  the 
protection  of  a  friend  whom  she  loved  and  revered. 

But  stronger  than  all  was  maternal  love,  wrought  into  a 
paroxysm  of  frenzy  by  the  near  approach  of  a  fearful  dan- 
ger. 

The  frosty  ground  creaked  beneath  her  feet,  and  she 
trembled  at  the  sound;  every  quaking  leaf  and  fluttering 
shadow  sent  the  blood  backward  to  her  heart,  and  quick- 
ened her  footsteps,  while  from  her  pale  lips  burst  forth, 
in  frequent  ejaculations,  the  pra}rer  to  a  Friend  above — 
"Lord,  help !  Lord,  save  me  I" 

On  she  went,  leaving  behind  one  familiar  object  after 
another,  till  daylight  found  her  many  miles  from  all  fa- 
miliar objects  upon  the  highway. 

After  a  while,  they  came  to  a  thick  patch  of  woodland, 
and,  sitting  down  behind  a  large  rock  which  concealed 


44  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

them  from  the  road,  she  gave  the  child  a  breakfast  out  of 
her  little  package.  The  boy  wondered  and  grieved  that 
she  could  not  eat,  and  tried  to  wedge  some  of  his  cake  into 
her  mouth. 

"No,  no,  Harry  darling!  mother  can't  eat  till  you  are 
safe !  We  must  go  on — on — till  we  come  to  the  river !" 

She  stopped  at  noon  at  a  neat  farmhouse,  to  rest  her- 
self, and  buy  some  dinner  for  her  child  and  self;  for,  as 
the  danger  decreased  with  the  distance,  the  tension  of  the 
nervous  system  lessened,  and  she  found  herself  both  weary 
and  hungry. 

An  hour  before  sunset,  she  entered  a  village  by  the  Ohio 
river,  weary  and  footsore,  but  still  strong  in  heart. 

It  was  now  early  spring,  and  the  river  was  swollen  and 
turbulent.  The  narrow  channel  which  swept  round  the 
bend  was  full  of  ice,  piled  one  cake  over  another,  thus 
forming  a  temporary  barrier  to  the  descending  ice,  which 
lodged,  and  formed  a  great,  undulating  raft,  filling  up  the 
whole  river,  and  extending  almost  to  the  Kentucky  shore. 

Eliza  stood,  for  a  moment,  contemplating  this,  and  then 
turned  into  a  small  public  house  on  the  bank,  to  make  a 
few  inquiries. 

"Isn't  there  any  ferry  or  boat,  that  takes  people  over 
the  river,  now  ?"  she  said. 

"No,  indeed!"  said  the  woman;  "the  boats  has  stopped 
running,  but  there's  a  man  a  piece  down  here,  that's  going 
over  with  some  truck  this  evening,  if  he  durs'  to;  he'll  be 
in  here  to  supper  to-night,  so  you'd  better  set  down  and 
wait.  That's  a  sweet  little  fellow/'  added  the  woman,  of- 
fering him  a  cake. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


45 


"Poor  fellow !  he  isn't  used  to  walking,  and  I've  hurried 
him  on  so,"  said  Eliza. 
"Well,  take  him  into  this  room/'  said  the  woman. 

Though   Mrs.   Shelby  had  promised  that  the   dinner 


"Mother  can't  eat  until  you  are  safe." 


should  he  hurried  onto  table,  and  although  the  order  was 
fairly  given  out  in  Haley's  hearing,  and  carried  to  Aunt 
Chloe  by  at  least  half  a  dozen  juvenile  messengers,  an  im- 
pression seemed  to  reign  among  the  servants  generally 
that  Missis  would  not  be  particularly  disobliged  by  delay; 


16  Unele  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

and  it  was  wonderful  what  a  number  of  counter  accidents 
occurred  constantly,  to  retard  the  course  of  things. 

Finally,  news  was  brought  into. the  kitchen  that  "Mas'r 
Haley  was  mighty  oneasy,  and  that  he  couldn't  sit  in  his 
cheer  no  ways,  but  was  a  walkin'  and  stalkin'  to  the  win- 
ders and  through  the  porch." 

The  bell  here  rang,  and  Tom  was  summoned  to  the  par- 
lor. 

"Tom,"  said  his  master,  kindly,  "I  want  you  to  notice 
that  I  give  this  gentleman  bonds  to  forfeit  a  thousand  dol- 
lars if  you  are  not  on  the  spot  when  he  wants  you;  he's 
going  to-day  to  look  after  his  other  business,  and  you  can 
have  the  day  to  yourself.  Go  anywhere  you  like,  boy." 

"Thank  you,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"And  mind  yerself,"  said  the  trader,  "and  don't  come  it 
over  your  master  with  any  o'  yer  nigger  tricks !" 

"Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "I  was  jist  eight  years  old  when  ole 
Missis  put  you  into  my  arms,  and  you  wasn't  a  year  old. 
'Thar,'  says  she,  'Tom,  that's  to  be  your  young  Mas'r;  take 
good  care  on  him,'  says  she.  And  now  I  jist  ask  you,  Mas'r, 
have  I  ever  broke  word  to  you,  or  gone  contrary  to  you, 
'specially  since  I  was  a  Christian  ?" 

"My  good  boy,"  said  he,  "the  Lord  knows  you  say  but 
the  truth;  and  if  I  was  able  to  help  it,  all  the  world 
shouldn't  buy  you." 

"And  sure  as  I  am  a  Christian  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Shel- 
by, "you  shall  be  redeemed  as  soon  as  I  can  any  way  bring 
together  means.  Sir,"  she  said  to  Haley,  "take  good  ac- 
count of  who  you  sell  him  to,  and  let  me  know." 

At  two  o'clock  Sam  and  Andy  brought  the  horses  up  to 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


the  posts,  apparently  greatly  refreshed  and  invigorated  by 
the  scamper  of  the  morning. 

"I  shall  take  the  straight  road  to  the  river,"  said  Haley. 

"Sartin,"  said  Sam,  "dat's  de  idee.  Mas'r  Haley  hits 
de  thing  right  in  de  middle.  Now,  der's  two  roads  to  de 
river, — de  dirt  road  and  der  pike, — which  Mas'r  mean  to 


"I  shall  take  the  straight  road." 

take?  Cause,"  added  Sam,  "Fd  rather  be  'clined  to  'mag- 
ine  that  'Lizy  'd  take  de  dirt  road,  bein'  it's  the  least 
traveled." 

"She  would  naturally  go  a  lonesome  way,"  said  Haley. 

"Dar  an't  no  sayin',"  said  Sam;  "gals  is  pecular;  they 

4—  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


48  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

never  does  nothin'  ye  thinks  they  will.  Now,  my  private 
'pinion  is,  'Lizy  took  der  dirt  road;  so  I  think  we'd  better 
take  de  straight  one/' 

This  profound  view  did  not  seem  to  dispose  Haley  to  the 
straight  road;  and  he  announced  decidedly  that  he  should 
take  the  other,  and  asked  Sam  when  they  would  come  to  it. 

"A  little  piece  ahead,"  said  Sam. 

The  road,  in  fact,  was  an  old  one,  formerly  a  thorough- 
fare to  the  river,  but  abandoned  for  many  years.  It  was 
open  for  about  an  hour's  ride,  and  after  that  it  was  cut 
across  by  various  farms  and  fences.  Sam  knew  this  fact 
perfectly  well,  but  rode  along  with  an  air  of  dutiful  sub- 
mission. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  barn  standing  squarely  across  the 
road,  and  it  was  evident  that  their  journey  in  that  direc- 
tion was  ended. 

It  was  all  too  true  to  be  disputed,  and  all  three  faced  to 
the  right  about,  and  returned  to  the  highway. 

Because  of  all  these  delays,  it  was  an  hour  after  Eliza 
had  laid  her  child  to  sleep  in  the  village  tavern  before  the 
party  came  riding  into  the  same  place.  Eliza  was  standing 
by  the  window,  looking  out  in  another  direction,  when 
Sam's  quick  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  her.  Haley  and 
Andy  were  two  yards  behind.  At  this  crisis,  Sam  con- 
trived to  have  his  hat  blown  off,  and  uttered  a  loud  ejacu- 
lation, which  startled  her  at  once ;  she  drew  suddenly  back, 
and  the  whole  train  swept  by  the  window,  round  to  the 
front  door. 

A  thousand  lives  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  that  one 
moment  to  Eliza.  Her  room  opened  by  a  side  door  to  the 
river.  She  caught  her  child,  and  sprang  down  the  steps 


"She  leaped  to  another  and  still  another  cake."  49 


50  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

towards  it.  The  trader  caught  a  full  glimpse  of  her,  just 
as  she  was  disappearing  down  the  bank;  and  throwing 
himself  from  his  horse,  and  calling  loudly  on  Sam  and 
Andy,  he  was  after  her  like  a  hound  after  a  deer.  A  mo- 
ment brought  her  to  the  water's  edge.  Right  on  behind 
they  came;  and,  nerved  with  strength  such  as  God  gives 
only  to  the  desperate,  with  one  wild  cry  and  flying  leap, 
she  vaulted  sheer  over  the  turbid  current  by  the  shore,  on 
to  the  raft  of  ice  beyond.  It  was  a  desperate  leap — im- 
possible to  anything  but  madness  and  despair;  and  Haley, 
Sam  and  Andy,  instinctively  cried  out,  and  lifted  up  their 
hands,  as  she  did  it. 

The  huge  green  fragment  of  ice  on  which  she  alighted 
pitched  and  creaked  as  her  weight  came  on  it,  but  she 
stayed  there  not  a  moment.  With  wild  cries  and  desperate 
energy  she  leaped  to  another  and  still  another  cake; — 
stumbling — leaping — slipping — springing  upwards  again ! 
Her  shoes  were  gone — her  stockings  cut  from  her  feet — 
while  blood  marked  every  step;  but  she  saw  nothing,  felt 
nothing,  till  dimly,  as  in  a  dream,  she  saw  the  Ohio  side, 
and  a  man  helping  her  up  the  bank. 

"Yer  a  brave  gal,  now,  whoever  ye  ar !"  said  the  man. 

Eliza  recognized  the  voice  and  face  of  a  man  who  owned 
a  farm  not  far  from  her  old  home. 

"0,  Mr.  Symmes ! — save  me — do  save  me — do  hide  me !" 
said  Eliza. 

"Why,  what's  this?"  said  the  man! 

"My'  child!— this  boy!— he'd  sold  him!  There  is  his 
Mas'r,"  said  she,  pointing  to  the  Kentucky  shore.  "0,  Mr. 
Symmes,  you've  got  a  little  boy !" 

"So  I  have,"  said  the  man,  as  he  roughly,  but  kindly, 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  51' 

drew  her  up  the  steep  bank.  "Besides,  you're  a  right  brave 
gal.  I  like  grit,  wherever  I  see  it." 

When  they  had  gained  the  top  of  the  bank,  the  man 
paused. 

"I'd  be  glad  to  do  something  for  ye/'  said  he;  "but  then 
thar's  nowhar  I  could  take  ye.  The  best  I  can  do  is  to  tell 
ye  to  go  thar,"  said  he,  pointing  to  a  large  white  house 
which  stood  by  itself,  off  the  main  street  of  the  village. 


"Good    evening,    Mas'r!" 

"Go  thar;  they're  kind  folks.  Thar's  no  kind  o'  danger 
but  they'll  help  you, — they're  up  to  all  that  sort  o'  thing." 

"The  Lord  bless  you !"  said  Eliza  earnestly. 

Haley  had  stood  a  perfectly  amazed  spectator  of  the 
scene,  till  Eliza  had  disappeared  up  the  bank,  when  he 
turned  a  blank,  inquiring  look  on  Sam  and  Andy. 

"That  ar  was  a  toPable  fair  stroke  of  business,"  said 
Sam. 

"You  laugh  \"  said  the  trader,  with  a  growl. 


52  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"Lord  bless  you,  Mas'r,  I  couldn't  help  it,  now,"  said 
Sam,  giving  way  to  the  long  pent-up  delight  of  his  soul. 
"She  looked  so  curi's,  a  leapin'  and  springin' — ice  a  crack- 
in — and  only  to  hear  her, — plump !  ker  chunk !  ker  splash ! 
Spring!  Lord!  how  she  goes  it!"  and  Sam  and  Andy 
laughed  till  the  tears  rolled  down  their  cheeks. 

"I'll  make  ye  laugh  t'other  side  yer  mouths!"  said  the 
trader,  laying  about  their  heads  with  his  riding  whip. 

Both  ducked,  and  ran  shouting  up  the  bank,  and  were 
on  their  horses  before  he  was  up. 

"Good-evening,  Mas'r!"  said  Sam,  with  much  gravity. 
"I  berry  much  spect  Missis  be  anxious  'bout  Jerry.  Mas'r 
Haley  won't  want  us  no  longer.  Missis  wouldn't  hear  of 
our  ridin'  the  critters  over  'Lizy's  bridge  to-night;"  and, 
with  a  poke  into  Andy's  ribs,  he  started  off,  followed  by 
the  latter,  at  full  speed. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ELIZA  made  her  desperate  retreat  across  the  river 
just  in  the  dusk  of  twilight.     The  gray  mist  of 
evening,  rising  slowly  from  the  river,  enveloped 
her  as  she  disappeared  up  the  bank,  and  the  swollen  cur- 
rent and  floundering  masses  of  ice  presented  a  hopeless 
barrier  between  her  and  her  pursuer.     Haley  therefore 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  53 

slowly  and  discontentedly  returned  to  the  little  tavern, 
to  ponder  further  what  was  to  be  done.  The  woman 
showed  him  into  a  little  parlor  and  here  Haley  sat  down 
to  meditate  on  his  ill  fortune. 

Soon  he  was  startled  by  the  loud  voice  of  a  man  who  was 
dismounting  at  the  door.  He  hurried  to  the  window. 

"By  the  land !  if  this  yer  an't  the  nearest,  now,  to  what 
I've  heard  folks  call  Providence,"  said  Haley.  "I  do 
b'lieve  that  ar's  Tom  Loker." 

Haley  hastened  out.  Standing  by  the  bar,  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  was  a  brawny,  muscular  man,  full  six  feet  in 
height,  and  btoad  in  proportion.  He  was  dressed  in  a  coat 
of  buffalo-skin,  made  with  the  hair  outward,  which  gave 
him  a  shaggy  and  fierce  appearance,  perfectly  in  keeping 
with  the  whole  air  of  his  physiognomy.  In  the  head  and 
face  every  organ  and  lineament  expressive  of  brutal  and 
unhesitating  violence  was  in  a  state  of  the  highest  possible 
development.  He  was  accompanied  by  a  traveling  com- 
panion, in  many  respects  an  exact  contrast  to  himself.  He 
was  short  and  slender,  lithe  and  cat-like  in  his  motions, 
and  had  a  peering  mousing  expression  about  his  keen  black 
eyes,  with  which  every  feature  of  his  face  seemed  sharp- 
ened into  sympathy;  his  thin,  long  nose  ran  out  as  if  it 
was  eager  to  bore  into  the  nature  of  things  in  general ;  his 
sleek,  thin,  black  hair  was  stuck  eagerly  forward,  and  all 
his  motions  and  evolutions  expressed  a  dry,  cautious  acute- 
ness. 

"Wai,  now,  who'd  a  thought  this  yer  luck  'd  come  to 
me?  Why,  Loker,  how  are  ye?"  said  Haley,  coming  for- 
ward, and  extending  his  hand  to  the  big  man. 

"You,  Haley,"  was  the  reply.  "What  brought  you  here  ?" 


54  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  say,  Tom,  this  yer's  the  luckiest  thing  in  the  world. 
I'm  in  an  awful  hobble,  and  you  must  help  me  out." 

"Like  enough !"  grunted  his  .acquaintance. 

"You've  got  a  friend  here?"  said  Haley,  "partner,  per- 
haps ?" 

"Yes,  I  have.  Here,  Marks!  here's  that  ar  feller  that 
I  was  in  with  in  Natchez." 

"Shall  be  pleased  with  his  acquaintance/'  said  Marks, 
"Mr.  Haley,  I  believe?" 

"The  same,  sir,"  said  Haley.  "And  now,  gentlemen, 
seein'  as  we've  met  so  happily,  I  think  I'll  stand  up  to  a 
small  matter  of  a  treat  in  this  here  parlor.  So,  now,  old 
coon,"  said  he  to  the  man  at  the  bar,  "get  us  hot  water, 
and  sugar,  and  cigars,  and  plenty  of  the  real  stuff,  and 
we'll  have  a  blow-out." 

Haley  began  a  pathetic  recital  of  his  peculiar  troubles. 
Loker  shut  up  Ms  mouth,  and  listened  to  him  with  gruff 
and  surly  attention.  Marks  gave  the  most  earnest  heed  to 
the  whole  narrative.  "So,  then,  ye  'r  fairly  sewed  up,  an't 
ye?"  he  said. 

"Now,  Mr.  Haley,"  continued  Marks,  "what  is  it  ?— you 
want  us  to  undertake  to  catch  this  yer  gal?" 

"The  gal's  no  matter  of  mine,— she's  Shelby's;  it's  only 
the  boy.  I  was  a  fool  for  buying  the  monkey !" 

"You're  generally  a  fool!"  said  Tom,  gruffly. 
"Come,  now,  Loker,  none  of  your  huffs,"  said  Marks: 
"you  see,  Mr.  Haley's  a  puttin'  us  in  a  way  of  a  good  job, 
I  reckon.    This  yer  gal,  Mr.  Haley,  how  is  she?  what  is 
she?" 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


55 


"Wai !  white  and  handsome— well  brought  up.  I'd  a  gin 
Shelby  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand,  and  then  made  well 
on  her/' 

"White  and  handsome — well  brought  up !"  said  Marks, 


"Why,  Loker,  how  are  ye?" 


his  sharp  eyes,  nose  and  mouth  all  alive  with  enterprise. 
"Look  here,  now,  Loker,  we'll  do  a  business  here  on  our 
own  account; — we  does  the  catchin';  the  boy,  of  course, 


56  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

goes  to  Mr.  Haley, — we  takes  the  gal  to  Orleans  to  specu- 
late on.  An't  it  beautiful?" 

Tom  Loker,  who  was  a  man  of  slow  thoughts  and  move- 
ments, here  interrupted  Marks  by  bringing  his  heavy  fist 
down  on  the  table,  so  as  to  make  all  ring  again.  "It'll  do !" 
he  said. 

"But,  gentlemen,  an't  I  to  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
profits  ?"  said  Haley. 

"An't  it  enough  we  catch  the  boy  for  ye  ?"  said  Loker. 
"What  do  ye  want  ?" 

"Wai,"  said  Haley,  "if  I  gives  you  the  job,  it's  worth 
something, — say  ten  per  cent,  on  the  profits,  expenses 
paid." 

"Now,"  said  Loker,  with  a  tremendous  oath,  and  strik- 
ing the  table  with  his  heavy  fist,  "don't  I  know  you,  Dan 
Haley?  Don't  you  think  to  come  it  over  me!  Suppose 
Marks  and  I  have  taken  up  the  catchin'  trade,  jest  to  'com- 
modate  gentlemen  like  you,  and  get  nothin'  for  ourselves? 
— Not  by  a  long  chalk !  we'll  have  the  gal  out  and  out,  and 
you  keep  quiet,  or,  ye  see,  we'll  have  both.  But  it  an't  all 
I  want,  by  a  long  jump,"  added  Tom.  "You  've  got  to  fork 
over  fifty  dollars,  flat  down,  or  this  child  don't  start  a  peg. 
T  know  yer.  If  we  get  the  job,  and  it  pays,  I'll  hand  it 
back;  if  we  don't,  it's  for  our  trouble, — that's  far,  an't  it, 
Marks?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Marks. 

Marks  had  got  from  his  pocket  a  greasy  pocket-book, 
and  taking  a  long  paper  from  thence,  he  sat  down,  and 
fixing  his  keen  black  eyes  on  it,  began  mumbling  over  ics 
contents. 

*CI  'm  jest  a  runnin'  over  our  business,  to  see  if  we  can 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  57 

take  up  this  yer  handily,"  said  he.  "Ther's  three  on  'em 
easy  cases,  'cause  all  you  've  got  to  do  is  to  shoot  'em,  or 
swear  they  is  shot.  Them  other  cases,"  he  said,  folding  the 
paper,  "will  bear  putting  off  a  spell." 

"I  s'pose  you've  got  good  dogs,"  said  Haley. 

"First  rate,"  said  Marks.  "But  what's  the  use?  you 
han't  got  nothin'  o'  hers  to  smell  on." 

"Yes,  I  have,"  said  Haley,  triumphantly.  "Here's  her 
shawl  she  left  on  the  bed  in  her  hurry;  she  left  her  bon- 
net, too." 

"That  ar's  lucky,"  said  Loker,  "fork  over,  and  as  the 
man 's  come  with  the  boat,  we  '11  be  off." 

After  exchanging  a  few  words  of  further  arrangement, 
Haley,  with  visible  reluctance,  handed  over  the  fifty  dollars 
to  Tom,  and  the  worthy  trio  separated  for  the  night. 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  at  the  tavern,  Sam  and 
Andy,  in  a  state  of  high  glee,  pursued  their  way  home. 
When  they  arrived  there,  Mrs.  Shelby  called  out: 

"Is  that  you,  Sam  ?    Where  are  they?" 

"Mas'r  Haley 's  a-restin'  at  the  tavern ;  he  's  drefful 
fatigued,  Missis." 

"And  Eliza,  Sam?" 

"Wai,  she  's  clear  'cross  Jordan.  As  a  body  may  say,  in 
the  land  o'  Canaan."  • 

"Why,  Sam,  what  do  you  mean?"  said  Mrs.  Shelby, 
breathless,  and  almost  faint,  as  the  possible  meaning  of 
these  words  came  over  her. 

"Wai,  Missis,  de  Lord  he  persarves  His  own.  'Lizy  's 
done  gone  over  the  river  into  'Hio,  as  'markably  as  if  the 
Lord  took  her  over  in  a  charrit  of  fire  and  two  bosses." 


58  Uncle  Tom'a  Cabin;  or 

"Come  up  here,  Sam,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  "and  tell  your 
mistress  what  she  wants.  Where  is  Eliza,  if  you  know  ?" 

"Wai,  Mas'r,  I  saw  her,  with  my  own  eyes,  a  crossin' 
on  the  floatin'  ice.  She  crossed  most  'markably;  it  was  n't 
no  less  nor  a  miracle;  and  I  saw  a  man  help  her  up  the 
'Hio  side,  and  then  she  was  lost  in  the  dusk." 

"Sam,  crossing  on  floating  ice  is  n't  so  easily  done/'  said 
Mr.  Shelby. 

"Easy!  couldn't  nobody  a  done  it,  widout  the  Lord. 
Why,  now,"  said  Sam,  "'was  just  dis  yer  way.  Mas'r 
Haley,  and  me,  and  Andy,  we  conies  up  to  de  little  tavern 
by  the  river,  and  I  rides  a  leetle  ahead, — (I's  so  zealous  to 
be  a  cotchin'  'Lizy,  that  I  couldn't  hold  in,  no  way), — and 
when  I  comes  by  the  tavern  winder,  sure  enough,  there  she 
was  right  in  plain  sight,  and  dey  diggin'  on  behind.  Wai, 
I  loses  off  my  hat,  and  sings  out  nuff  to  raise  the  dead. 
Course  'Lizy  she  hars,  and  she  dodges  back,  when  Mas'r 
Haley  he  goes  past  the  door ;  and  then,  I  tell  ye,  she  clared 
out  de  side  door;  she  went  down  the  river  bank; — Mas'r 
Haley  he  seed  her,  and  yelled  out,  and  him,  and  me,  and 
Andy,  we  took  arter.  Down  she  come  to  the  river,  and 
thar  was  the  current  running  ten  feet  wide  by  the  shore, 
and  over  t'  other  side  ice  a  sawin'  and  a  jiggling  up  and 
down,  kinder  as 't  were  a  great  island.  We  come  right  be- 
hind her,  and  I  thought  my  soul  he  'd  got  her  sure  enough, 
— when  she  gin  such  a  screech  as  I  never  beam,  and  thar 
she  was,  clar  over  t'  other  side  the  current,  on  the  ice,  and 
then  on  she  went,  a  screeching  and  a  jumpin', — the  ice 
went  crack !  c'wallop !  cracking !  chunk !  and  she  a  boundin' 
like  a  buck !  Lord,  the  spring  that  ar  gal 's  got  in  her  an't 
common,  I'm  o'  'pinion." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  59 

Mrs.  Shelby  sat  perfectly  silent,  pale  with  excitement, 
while  Sam  told  his  story. 

"God  be  praised,  she  is  n't  dead  I"  she  said ;  "but  where 
is  the  poor  child  now  ?" 

"De  Lord  will  pervide,"  said  Sam,  rolling  up  his  eyes 
piously.  "Now,  if  't  had  n't  been  for  me  to-day,  she  'd  a 
been  took  a  dozen  times.  Warn't  it  I  started  off  de  horses, 
dis  yer  mornin',  and  kept  'em  chasin'  till  nigh  dinner  time  ? 
And  did  n't  I  car'  Mas'r  Haley  nigh  five  miles  out  of  de 
road,  dis  evening,  or  else  he  'd  a  come  up  with  'Lizy  as  easy 
as  a  dog  arter  a  coon  ?  These  yer 's  all  providences." 

"They  are  a  kind  of  providence  that  you  '11  have  to  be 
pretty  sparing  of,  Master  Sam.  I  allow  no  such  practices 
with  gentlemen  on  my  place,"  said  Mr.  Shelby,  with  as 
much  sternness  as  he  could  command. 

"Mas'r  's  quite  right, — quite;  it  was  ugly  on  me.  I  'in 
sensible  of  dat  ar;  but  a  poor  nigger  like  me  's  'mazin' 
tempted  to  act  ugly  sometimes." 

"Well,  Sam,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "as  you  appear  to  have 
a  proper  sense  of  your  errors,  you  may  go  now  and  tell 
Aunt  Chloe  she  may  get  you  some  of  that  cold  ham  that 
was  left  of  dinner  to-day.  You  and  Andy  must  be  hungry." 

"Missis  is  a  heap  too  good  for  us,"  said  Sam,  making 
his  bow  with  alacrity,  and  departing. 

"I  '11  speechify  these  yer  niggers,"  said  Sam  to  himself, 
"now  I  've  got  a  chance.  Lord,  I  '11  reel  it  off  to  make  'em 
stare!" 

The  kitchen  was  full  of  all  his  compeers,  who  had  hur- 
ried and  crowded  in,  from  the  various  cabins,  to  hear  the 
termination  of  the  day's  exploits. 

"Yer  see,   fellow-countrmen/'   said   Sam,   elevating  a 


60 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


turkey's  leg,  with  energy,  "yer  see  now,  what  dis  yer  chile's 
np  ter,  for  'fendin'  yer  all, — yes,  all  on  yer.  For  him  as 
tries  to  get  one  o'  our  people,  is  as  good  as  tryin'  to  get  all ; 
yer  see  the  principle  's  de  same, — dat  ar's  clar.  And  any 
one  o'  these  yer  drivers  that  comes  smelling  round  arter 
any  our  people,  why,  he's  got  me  in  his  way;  I'm  the  feller 
he's  got  to  set  in  with, — I'm  the  feller  for  yer  all  to  come 
to,  brethren, — I'll  stand  up  for  yer  rights, —  I'll  'fend  'em 
to  the  last  breath!" 

"Why,  but  Sam,  yer 
telled  me,  only  this  morn- 
in',  that  you'd  help  this 
yer  Mas'r  to  cotch  'Lizy; 
seems  to  me  yer  talk  don't 
hang  together,"  said  Andy. 
"I  tell  yer  now,  Andy," 
said  Sam,  with  awful  su- 
periority, "don't  yer  be  a 
talkin'  'bout  what  yer 
don't  know  nothin'  on; 
boys  like  you,  Andy,  means 
well,  but  they  can't  be 
'spected  to  collusitate  the 
great  principles  of  action."  Andy  looked  rebuked  and 
Sam  proceeded. 

"Dat  ar  was  conscience,  Andy ;  when  I  thought  of  gwine 
arter  'Lizy,  I  railly  spected  Mas'r  was  sot  dat  way.  When 
I  found  Missis  was  sot  the  contrar,  dat  ar  was  conscience 
more  yet, — cause  fellers  allers  gets  more  by  stickin'  to 
Missis'  side, — so  yer  see  Fs  persistent  either  way,  and 
sticks  up  to  conscience,  and  holds  on  to  principles." 


Sam  in  the  kitchen. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  61 

Sam's  audience  hanging  on  his  words  with  open  mouth, 
he  could  not  but  proceed. 

"Yes,  indeed!"  said  Sam,  rising,  full  of  supper  and 
glory,  for  a  closing  effort.  "Yes,  my  feller-citizens  and 
ladies  of  de  other  sex  in  general,  I  has  principles, — I'm 
proud  to  'oon  'em, — they  's  perquisite  to  dese  yer  times, 
and  ter  all  times, — I'd  walk  right  up  to  de  stake,  I  would, 
and  say,  here  I  comes  to  shed  my  last  blood  fur  my 
principles,  fur  my  country,  fur  der  gen'l  interests  of 
s'ciety." 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "one  o'  yer  principles  will 
have  to  be  to  get  to  bed  some  time  to-night,  and  not  be  a 
keepin'  everybody  up  till  mornin';  now,  every  one  of  you 
young  uns  that  don't  want  to  be  cracked,  had  better  be 
scase,  mighty  sudden." 

"Niggers!  all  on  yer,"  said  Sam,  waving  his  palmleaf 
with  benignity,  "I  give  yer  my  blessin';  go  to  bed  now, 
and  be  good  boys." 


Tfncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN  WHICH  IT  APPEARS  THAT  A  SENATOR  IS  BUT  A  MAN. 

THE  light  of  the  cheerful  fire  shone  on  the  rug  and 
carpet  of  a  cosy  parlor,  and  glittered  on  the  sides 
of  the  tea-cups  and  well-brightened  tea-pot,  as 
Senator  Bird  was  drawing  off  his  boots,  preparatory  to 
inserting  his  feet  in  a  pair  of  new  handsome  slippers, 
which  his  wife  had  been  working  for  him  while  away  on 
his  senatorial  tour.  Mrs.  Bird,  looking  the  very  picture 
of  delight,  was  superintending  the  arrangements  of  the 
table.  "What  have  they  been  doing  in  the  Senate?"  said 
ehe. 

"Not  very  much  of  importance." 

"Well;  but  is  it  true  that  they  have  been  passing  a 
law  forbidding  people  to  give  meat  and  drink  to  those 
poor  colored  folks  that  come  along?" 

"There  has  been  a  law  passed  forbidding  people  to  help 
off  the  slaves  that  come  over  from  Kentucky,  my  dear." 

"And  what  is  the  law?  It  don't  forbid  us  to  shelter 
these  poor  creatures  a  night,  does  it,  and  to  give  'em 
something  comfortable  to  eat,  and  a  few  old  clothes,  and 
send  them  quietly  about  their  business?" 

"Why,  yes,  my  dear;  that  would  be  aiding  and  abetting 
you  know." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


63 


"Now,  John,  I  want  to  know  if  you  think  such  a  law  as 
that  is  right  and  Christian?" 

"Now,  listen  to  me,  Mary,  and  I  can  state  to  you  a  very 
clear  argument,  to  show — " 

"0,  nonsense,  John!  you  can  talk  all  night,  but  you 
wouldn't  do  it.  I  put  it  to  you,  John, — would  you  now 


"Senator  Bird  was  drawing  off  his  boots." 

turn  away  a  poor,  shivering,  hungry  creature  from  your 
door,  because  he  was  a  runaway?  Would  you,  now?" 

"Of  course,  it  would  be  a  very  painful  duty,"  began 
Mr.  Bird,  in  a  moderate  tone. 

"Duty,  John!  don't  use  that  word!    You  know  it  isn't 

5—  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


64  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

a  duty — it  can't  be  a  duty!  If  folks  want  to  keep  their 
slaves  from  running  away,  let  'em  treat  'em  well, — that's 
my  doctrine." 

At  this  critical  juncture,  old  Cudjoe,  the  black  man- 
of-all-work,  put  his  head  in  at  the  door,  and  wished  "Missis 
would  come  into  the  kitchen." 

After  a  moment,  his  wife's  voice  was  heard  at  the  door, 
in  a  quick,  earnest  tone, — "John!  John!  I  do  wish  you'd 
come  here,  a  moment." 

He  laid  down  his  paper,  and  went  into  the  kitchen,  and 
started,  quite  amazed  at  the  sight  that  presented  itself: — 
a  young  and  slender  woman,  with  garments  torn  and 
frozen,  with  one  shoe  gone,  and  the  stocking  torn  away 
from  the  cut  and  bleeding  foot,  was  laid  back  in  a  deadly 
swoon  upon  two  chairs.  He  drew  his  breath  short,  and 
stood  in  silence. 

"Sure,  now,  if  she  an't  a  sight  to  behold!"  said  old 
Dinah,  "'pears  like  't  was  the  heat  that  made  her  faint. 
She  was  tol'able  peart  when  she  cum  in,  and  asked  if  she 
couldn't  warm  herself  here  a  spell:  and  I  was  just  a  askin' 
her  where  she  cum  from,  and  she  fainted  right  down. 
Never  done  much  hard  work,  guess,  by  the  looks  of  her 
hands/' 

"Poor  creature!"  said  Mrs.  Bird,  compassionately,  as 
ihe  woman  slowly  unclosed  her  large,  dark  eyes,  and 
looked  vacantly  at  her.  Suddenly  an  expression  of  agony 
crossed  her  face,  and  she  sprang  up,  saying,  "0,  my  Harry ! 
Have  they  got  him  ?" 

The  boy,  at  this,  jumped  from  Cudjoe's  knee,  and,  run- 
ning to  her  side,  put  up  his  arms.  "0  he's  here!  he's 
here!"  she  exclaimed. 


66  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"0,  ma'am!"  said  she,  wildly,  to  Mrs.  Bird,  "do  protect 
us !  don't  let  them  get  him !" 

"Nobody  shall  hurt  you  here,  poor  woman,"  said  Mrs. 
Bird,  encouragingly.  "You  are  safe;  don't  he  afraid." 

"God  bless  you!"  said  the  woman,  covering  her  face 
and  sobbing;  while  the  little  boy,  seeing  her  crying,  tried 
to  get  into  her  lap. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  anything;  we  are  friends 
here,  poor  woman!  Tell  me  where  you  came  from,  and 
what  you  want,"  said  Mrs.  Bird. 

"I  came  from  Kentucky,"  said  the  woman. 

"When?"  said  Mr.  Bird,  taking  up  the  interrogatory. 

"To-night." 

"How  did  you  come?" 

"I  crossed  on  the  ice." 

"Crossed  on  the  ice!"  said  every  one  present. 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman,  slowly,  "I  did.  God  helping 
me,  I  crossed  on  the  ice;  for  they  were  behind  me — right 
behind  me — and  there  was  no  other  way!" 

"Were  you  a  slave  ?"  said  Mr.  Bird. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  belonged  to  a  man  in  Kentucky." 

"Was  he  unkind  to  you?" 

"No,  sir;  he  was  a  good  master." 

"And  was  your  mistress  unkind  to  you  ?" 

"No,  sir; — no!  my  mistress  was  always  good  to  me." 

"What  could  induce  you  to  leave  a  good  home,  then, 
and  run  away,  and  go  through  such  dangers?" 

The  woman  looked  up  at  Mrs.  Bird  with  a  keen,  scruti- 
nizing glance,  and  it  did  not  escape  her  that  she  was 
dressed  in  deep  mourning. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  67 

''Ma'am/'  she  said,  suddenly,  "have  you  ever  lost  a 
child?" 

Mr.  Bird  turned  around  and  walked  to  the  window,  and 
Mrs.  Bird  burst  into  tears;  but,  recovering  her  voice,  she 
said, 

"Why  do  you  ask  that  ?    I  have  lost  a  little  one." 

"Then  you  will  feel  for  me.  I  have  lost  two,  one  after 
another, — left  'em  buried  there  when  I  came  away;  and 
I  had  only  this  one  left.  I  never  slept  a  night  without 
him;  he  was  all  I  had.  He  was  my  comfort  and  pride, 
day  and  night;  and,  ma'am,  they  were  going  to  take  him 
away  from  me, — to  sell  him, — sell  him  down  south,  ma'am, 
to  go  all  alone, — a  baby  that  had  never  been  away  from 
his  mother  in  his  life!  I  couldn't  stand  it,  ma'am.  I 
knew  I  never  should  be  good  for  anything,  if  they  did; 
and  when  I  knew  the  papers  were  signed,  and  he  was  sold, 
I  took  him  and  came  off  in  the  night;  and  they  chased 
me, — the  man  that  bought  him,  and  some  of  Mas'rs 
folks, — and  they  were  coming  down  right  behind  ine,  and 
I  heard  'em.  I  jumped  right  on  to  the  ice;  and  how  I  got 
across,  I  don't  know, — hut,  first  I  knew,  a  man  was  help- 
ing me  up  the  bank." 

"Have  you  no  husband?" 

"Yes,  but  he  belongs  to  another  man.  His  master  is  re«l 
hard  to  him,  and  won't  let  him  come  to  see  me,  hardly 
ever;  and  he's  grown  harder  and  harder  upon  us,  and  he 
threatens  to  sell  him  down  South; — it's  like  I'll  never  see 
him  again!" 

"And  where  do  you  mean  to  go,  my  poor  woman?"  said 
Mrs.  Bird. 

"To  Canada,  if  I  only  knew  where  that  was.    Is  it  very 


68  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

far  off,  is  Canada  ?"  said  she,  looking  up,  into  Mrs.  Bird's 
face. 

"Much  further  than  you  think,  poor  child!"  said  Mrs. 
Bird;  "but  we  will  try  to  think  what  can  be  done  for 
you.  Here,  Dinah,  make  her  up  a  bed  in  your  own  room, 
close  by  the  kitchen,  and  I'll  think  what  to  do  for  her  in 
the  morning.  Meanwhile,  never  fear,  poor  woman;  put 
your  trust  in  God ;  He  will  protect  you." 

Mrs.  Bird  and  her  husband  re-entered  the  parlor.  Mr. 
Bird  strode  up  and  down  the  room,  grumbling  to  him- 
self. At  length,  he  said, 

"I  say,  wife,  she'll  have  to  get  away  from  here,  this  very 
nightX 

"To-night!     How  is  it  possible? — where  to?" 

"Well.  I  know  pretty  well  where  to,"  said  the  senator, 
beginning  to  put  on  his  boots,  with  a  reflective  air. 

"It's  a  confounded  awkward,  ugly  business,"  said  he, 
at  last,  beginning  to  tug  at  his  boot-straps  again,  "and 
that's  a  fact!" 

"You  see,"  he  said,  at  last,  "there's  my  old  client.  Van 
Trompe,  has  come  over  from  Kentucky,  and  set  all  his 
slaves  free;  and  he  has  bought  a  place  seven  miles  up  the 
creek,  Tiere,  back  in  the  woods,  where  nobody  goes,  unless 
they  go  on  purpose;  and  it's  a  place  that  isn't  found  in 
a  hurry.  There  she'd  be  safe  enough;  but  the  plague  of 
the  thing  is,  nobody  could  drive  a  carriage  there  to-night, 
but  me." 

"Why  not?    Cudjoe  is  an  excellent  driver." 

"Ay,  ay,  but  here  it  is.  The  creek  has  to  be  crossed 
twice;  and  the  second  crossing  is  quite  dangerous,  unless 
one  knows  it  as  I  do.  I  have  crossed  it  a  hundred  times 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  69 

on  horseback,  and  know  exactly  the  turns  to  take.  And 
so,  you  see,  there's  no  help  for  it.  Cudjoe  must  put  in 
the  horses,  as  quietly  as  may  be,  about  twelve  o'clock, 
and  I'll  take  her  over;  and  then,  to  give  color  to  the  mat- 
ter, he  must  carry  me  on  to  the  next  tavern,  to  take  the 
stage  for  Columbus,  that  comes  by  about  three  or  four, 
and  so  it  will  look  as  if  I  had  had  the  carriage  only  for 
that.  I  shall  get  into  business  bright  and  early  in  the 
morning.  But  I'm  thinking  I  shall  feel  rather  cheap 
there,  after  all  that's  been  said  and  done;  but,  hang  it, 
I  can't  help  it!" 

"Your  heart  is  better  than  your  head,  in  this  case, 
John,"  said  the  wife,  laying  her  little  white  hand  on  his. 
"Could  I  ever  have  loved  you,  had  I  not  known  you  better 
than  you  know  yourself?" 

"Mary,  I  don't  know  how  you'd  feel  about  it,  but  there's 
that  drawer  full  of  things — of — of — poor  little  Henry's." 
So  saying,  he  turned  quickly  on  his  heel,  and  shut  the 
door  after  him. 

Mrs.  Bird  slowty  opened  the  drawer.  There  were  little 
coats,  piles  of  aprons,  and  rows  of  small  stockings;  and 
even  a  pair  of  little  shoes,  worn  and  rubbed  at  the  toes, 
were  peeping  from  the  folds  of  a  paper.  There  was  a  toy 
horse  and  wagon,  a  top,  a  ball, — memorials  gathered  with 
many  a  tear  and  many  a  heart-break! 

"Mamma,"  said  one  of  the  boys,  gently  touching  her 
arm,  "are  you  going  to  give  away  those  things  ?" 

"My  dear  boys,"  she  said,  softly  and  earnestly,  "if  our 
dear,  loving  little  Henry  looks  down  from  heaven,  he 
would  be  glad  to  have  us  do  this!" 

"Mary,"  said  her  husband,  coming  in,  with  his  overcoat 


70  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

in  his  hand,  "you  must  wake  her  up  now;  we  must  he 
off." 

Mrs.  Bird  hastily  deposited  the  various  articles  she  had 
collected  in  a  small  plain  trunk,  and  locking  it,  desired 
her  hushand  to  see  it  in  the  carriage,  and  then  proceeded 
to  call  the  woman.  Soon,  arrayed  in  a  cloak,  honnet,  and 
shawl,  that  had  belonged  to  her  benefactress,  she  ap- 
peared at  the  door  with  her  child  in  her  arms.  Mr.  Bird 
hurried  her  into  the  carriage,  and"  Mrs.  Bird  pressed  on 
after  her  to  the  carriage  steps.  Eliza  leaned  out  of  the 
carriage,  and  put  out  her  hand, — a  hand  as  soft  and  beau- 
tiful as  was  given  in  return.  She  fixed  her  large,  dark 
eyes,  full  of  earnest  meaning,  on  Mrs.  Bird's  face,  and 
seemed  going  to  speak.  Her  lips  moved, — she  tried  once 
or  twice,  but  there  was  no  sound, — and  pointing  upward, 
with  a  look  never  to  be  forgotten,  she  fell  back  in  the  seat, 
and  covered  her  face.  The  door  was  shut,  and  the  car- 
riage drove  on. 

There  had  been  a  long  eontinuoi*  period  of  rainy 
weather,  and  the  road  was  an  Ohio  railroad  of  the  good 
old  times,  made  of  round  rough  losrs,  arranged  side  by 
side,  and  coated  over  with  earth  and  turf. 

Over  such  a  road  as  this  our  senator  went  stumbling 
along,  making  moral  reflections  as  continuously  as  under 
the  circumstances  could  be  expected.  At  last,  with  a 
square  plunge,  which  puts  all  on  to  their  feet  and  then 
down  Into  their  seats  with  incredible  quickness,  the  car- 
riage stops, — and,  after  much  outside  commotion,  Cudjoe 
appears  at  the  door. 

"Please,  sir,  it's  powerful  bad  spot,  this  yer.    I  don't 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


know  how  we's  to  get  clar  out.    I'm  a  thinkin'  we'll  have 
to  be  a  gettin'  rails." 

It  was  late  in  the  night  when  the  carriage,  dripping 
and  bespattered,  stood  at  the  door  of  a  large  farm-house, 


v/ 


"I  rather  think  I  am." 


It  took  some  time  to  arouse  the  inmates ;  but  at  last  the 
proprietor  appeared,  and  undid  the  door.  He  was  a  great, 
tall  fellow,  full  six  feet  and  some  inches  in  his  stockings, 


72  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

and  arrayed  in  a  red  flannel  hunting-shirt.  A  very  heavy 
mat  of  sandy  hair,  in  a  decidedly  tousled  condition,  and 
a  beard  of  some  days'  growth,  gave  the  worthy  man  an 
appearance,  to  say  the  least,  not  particularly  prepossess- 
ing. 

"Are  you  the  man  that  will  shelter  a  poor  woman  and 
child  from  slave-catchers?"  said  the  senator,  explicitly. 

"I  rather  think  I  am,"  said  honest  John,  with  some 
considerable  emphasis. 

"I  thought  so/'  said  the  senator. 

"If  there's  anybody  comes,"  said  the  good  man,  stretch- 
ing his  tall,  muscular  form  upward,  "why  here  I'm  ready 
for  him:  and  I've  got  seven  sons,  each  six  foot  high,  and 
they'll  be  ready  for  'em.  Give  our  respects  to  'em,"  said 
John;  "tell  'em  it's  no  matter  how  soon  they  call, — make 
no  kinder  difference  to  us,"  said  John,  running  his  fingers 
through  the  shock  of  hair  that  thatched  his  head,  and 
bursting  out  into  a  great  laugh. 

Weary,  jaded,  and  spiritless,  Eliza  dragged  herself  up 
to  the  door,  with  her  child  lying  in  a  heavy  sleep  on  her 
arm.  The  rough  man  held  the  candle  to  her  face,  and 
uttering  a  kind  of  compassionate  grunt,  opened  the  door 
of  a  small  bedroom  adjoining  to  the  large  kitchen  where 
they  were  standing,  and  motioned  her  to  go  in.  He  took 
down  a  candle,  and  lighting  it,  set  it  upon  the  table,  and 
then  addressed  himself  to  Eliza. 

"Now,  I  say,  gal,  you  needn't  be  a  bit  afeared,  let  who 
will  come  here.  I'm  up  to  all  that  sort  o'  thing,"  said  he, 
pointing  to  two  or  three  rifles  over  the  mantelpiece;  "and 
most  people  that  know  me  know  that  't  wouldn't  be 
healthy  to  try  to  get  anybody  out  o'  my  house  when  I'm 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  73 

agin  it.  So  now  you  just  go  to  sleep  now,  as  quiet  as  if 
yer  mother  was  a  rockin'  ye,"  said  he,  as  he  shut  the 
door. 

The  senator,  in  a  few  words,  briefly  explained  Eliza's 
history. 

"I  want  to  know?"  said  the  good  man,  pitifully;  "sho! 
now  sho!  That's  natur  now,  poor  crittur!  hunted  down 
now  like  a  deer, — hunted  down,  iust  for  havin'  natural 
feelin's,  and  doin'  what  no  kind  o'  mother  could  help  a 
doin'!  I  tell  ye  what,  these  yer  things  make  me  come  the 
nighest  to  swearin',  now,  o'  most  anything,"  said  honest 
John,  as  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  a  great, 
freckled,  yellow  hand. 

"Ye'd  better  jest  put  up  here,  now,  till  daylight,"  added 
he,  heartily,  "and  I'll  call  up  the  old  woman,  and  have  a 
bed  got  ready  for  you  in  no  time." 

"Thank  you,  my  good  friend,"  said  the  senator,  "I  must 
be  along,  to  take  the  night  stage  for  Columbus." 

"Ah!  well,  then,  if  you  must,  I'll  go  a  piece  with* you, 
aiid  show  you  a  cross  road  that  will  take  you  there  better 
than  the  road  you  came  on.  That  road's  mighty  bad." 

John  equipped  himself,  and,  with  a  lantern  in  hand, 
was  soon  seen  guiding  the  senator's  carriage  towards  a 
road  that  ran  down  in  a  hollow,  back  of  his  dwelling. 
Wheif  they  parted,  the  senator  put  into  his  hand  a  ten- 
dollar  bill. 

"It's  for  her,"  he  said,  briefly. 

They  shook  hands,  and  parted. 


74:  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  PROPERTY  IS  CARRIED    OFF. 

THE   February   morning  looked   gray   and   drizzling 
through  the  window  of  Uncle  Tom's  cabin. 

Tom  sat  with  his  Testament  open  on  his  knee, 
and  his  head  leaning  upon  his  hand.  It  was  yet  early,  and 
the  children  lay  all  asleep  together  in  their  little  rude 
trundle-bed.  Soon  he  got  up  and  walked  silently  to  look 
at  his  children.  "It's  the  last  time/'  he  said. 

"Missis  says  she'll  try  and  'deem  ye,  in  a  year  or  two; 
but  Lor!  nobody  never  comes  up  that  goes  down  thar! 
They  kills  'em !  I've  hearn  'em  tell  how  dey  works  'em  up 
on  dem  ar  plantations." 

"There'll  be  the  same  God  there,  Chloe,  that  there  is 
here." 

"Well,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  "s'pose  dere  will ;  but  de  Lord 
lets  drefful  things  happen,  sometimes.  I  don't  seem  to 
get  no  comfort  dat  way." 

"I'm  in  the  Lord's  hands,"  said  Tom;  "nothin'  can  go 
no  furder  than  He  lets  it;  and  thar's  one  thing  I  can 
thank  Him  for.  It's  me  that's  sold  and  going  down,  and 
not  you  nur  the  chil'en.  Here  you're  safe; — what  comes 
will  come  only  on  me,  and  the  Lord,  He'll  help  me, — I 
know  He  will." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


The  simple  morning  meal  now  smoked  on  the  table. 
The  poor  soul  had  expended  all  her  little  energies  on  this 
farewell  feast, — had  killed  and  dressed  her  choicest 
chicken,  and  prepared  her  corn-cake  with  scrupulous  ex- 
actness, just  to  her  husband's  taste. 


"Tom  sat  with  his  Testament  on  his  knee." 

"Lor,  Pete,",  said  Mose,  triumphantly,  "han't  we  got  a 
buster  of  a  breakfast!"  at  the  same  time  catching  at  a 
fragment  of  the  chicken. 

Aunt  Chloe  gave  him  a  sudden  box  on  the  ear.    "Thar 


76  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

now!  crowing  over  the  last  breakfast  yer  poor  daddy's 
gwine  to  have  to  home!" 

"0,  Chloe!"  said  Tom,  gently. 

"Wai,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  hiding  her  face 
in  her  apron;  "I'se  so  tossed  about,  it  makes  me  act  ugly." 

"Now,"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  bustling  about  after  breakfast. 
"I  must  put  up  yer  clothes.  Jest  like  as  not,  he'll  take 
'em  all  away.  I  know  thar  ways — mean  as  dirt,  they  is !" 

Mrs.  Shelby  entered.  "Tom,"  she  said,  "I  come  to — " 
and  stopping  suddenly,  and  regarding  the  silent  group, 
she  sat  down  in  the  chair,  and,  covering  her  face  with  her 
handkerchief,  began  to  sob. 

"Lor,  now,  Missis,  don't — don't!"  said  Aunt  Chloe, 
bursting  out  in  her  turn;  and  for  a  few  moments  they  all 
wept  in  company. 

"My  good  fellow,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  "I  can't  give  you 
anything  to  do  you  any  good.  If  I  give  you  money,  it 
will  only  be  taken  from  you.  But  I  tell  you  solemnly,  and 
before  God,  that  I  will  keep  trace  of  you,  and  bring  you 
back  as  soon  as  I  can  command  the  money; — and,  till 
then,  trust  in  God !" 

Here  the  boys  called  out  that  Mas'r  Haley  was  coming, 
and  then  an  unceremonious  kick  pushed  open  the  door. 

"Come,"  said  he,  "'ye  nigger,  ye  'r  ready?  Servant, 
ma'am !"  said  he,  taking  off  his  hat,  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Shelby. 

Tom  rose  up  meekly,  to  follow  his  new  master,  and 
raised  up  his  heavy  box  on  his  shoulder.  His  wife  took  the 
baby  in  her  arms  to  go  with  him  to  the  wagon,  and  the 
children,  still  crying,  trailed  on  behind. 

A  crowd  of  all  the  old  and  young  hands  on  the  place 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  77 

stood  gathered  around  it,  to  bid  farewell  to  their  old  as- 
sociate. 

"Why,  Chloe,  you  bar  it  better'n  we  do !"  said  one  of  the 
women,  who  had  been  weeping  freely. 

"Fs  done  my  tears!"  she  said,  looking  grimly  at  the 
trader,  who  was  coming  up.  "I  does  not  feel  to  cry  'fore 
dat  ar  old  limb,  no  how!" 

"Get  in  I"  said  Haley  to  Tom,  as  he  strode  through  the 
crowd  of  servants. 

Tom  got  in,  and  Haley,  drawing  out  from  under  the 
wagon  seat  a  heavy  pair  of  shackles,  made  them  fast 
around  each  ankle. 

"Fm  sorry,"  said  Tom,  "that  Mas'r  George  happened 
to  be  away.  Give  my  love  to  Mas'r  George,"  he  said,  earn- 
estly. 

Haley  whipped  up  the  horse,  and,  with  a  steady,  mourn- 
ful look,  fixed  to  the  last  on  the  old  place,  Tom  was 
whirled  away. 

After  they  had  ridden  about  a  mile,  Haley  drew  up  at 
the  door  of  a  blacksmith's  shop,  and,  taking  out  with  him 
a  pair  of  handcuffs,  stepped  into  the  shop,  to  have  a  little 
alteration  in  them. 

Tom  was  sitting  very  mournfully  on  the  outside  of  the 
shop.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  quick,  short  click  of  a 
horse's  hoof  behi»d^him;  and,  before  he  could  fairly 
awake  from  his  surprise,  young  Master  George  sprang  into 
the  wagon,  threw  his  arms  tiimultuously  round  his  neck, 
and  was  sobbing  and  scolding  with  energy. 

"I  declare,  it's  real  mean!  I  don't  care  what  they  say, 
any  of  'em!  It's  a  nast}^,  mean  shame!  If  I  was  a  man, 


78  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

they  shouldn't  do  it,— they  should  not,  so!"  said  George, 
with  a  kind  of  subdued  howl. 

"0!  Mas'r  George!  this  does  me  good!"  said  Tom.  "I 
couldn't  ba'r  to  go  off  without  seein'  ye !  It  does  me  real 
good,  ye  can't  tell !" 

"I  say  it's  a  shame!  Look  here,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  he, 
turning  his  back  to  the  shop,  and  speaking  in  a  myster- 
ious tone,  "I've  brought  you  my  dollar!" 

"0!  I  couldn't  think  o'  takin'  on  't,  Mas'r  George,  no 
ways  in  the  world !"  said  Tom,  quite  .moved. 

"But  you  shall  take  it !" 
said  George;  look  here — I 
told  Aunt  Chloe  I'd  do  it, 
and  she  advised  me  just  to 
make  a  hole  in  it,  and  put 
a  string  through,  so  you 
could  hang  it  round  your 
neck,  and  keep  it  out  of 
sight;  else  this  mean  scamp 
would  take  it  away." 
"It's  a  nasty,  mean  shame."  "Now,  Mas'r  George," 

said  Tom,  "ye  must  be  a  good  boy;  'member  how  many 
hearts  is  sot  on  ye.  Al'ays  keep  close  to  yer  mother. 
Don't  be  gettin'  into  any  of  them  foolish  ways  boys  has  of 
gettin'  too  big  to  mind  their  mothers.  'Member  yer  Cre- 
ator in  the  days  o'  yer  youth,  Mas'r  George." 

"I'll  be  real  good,  Uncle  Tom,  I  tell  you,"  said  George, 
"and  don't  you  be  discouraged.  I'll  have  you  back  to  the 
place,  yet.  As  I  told  Aunt  Chloe  this  morning,  I'll  build 
your  house  all  over,  and  you  shall  have  a  room  for  a  parlor 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  79 

with  a  carpet  on  it,  when  I'm  a  man.  0,  you'll  have  good 
times  yet!" 

"Now,  I  tell  ye  what,  Tom,"  said  Haley,  as  he  came  up 
to  the  wagon,  and  threw  in  the  hand-cuffs,  "I  mean  to 
start  fa'r  with  ye,  as  I  gen'ally  do  with  my  niggers;  and 
I'll  tell  ye  now,  to  begin  with,  you  treat  me  fa'r,  and  I'll 
treat  you  fa'r;  I  an't  never  hard  on  my  niggers.  Calcu- 
lates to  do  the  hest  for  'em  I  can.  Xow,  ye  see,  you'd 
better  just  settle  down  comfortable,  and  not  be  tryin'  no 
tricks;  because  nigger's  tricks  of  all  sorts  I'm  up  to,  and 
it's  no  use.  If  niggers  is  quiet,  and  don't  try  to  get  off, 
they  has  good  times  with  me;  and  if  they  don't,  why,  it's 
thar  fault,  and  not  mine." 

Tom  assured  Haley  that  he  had  no  present  intentions 
of  running  off.  In  fact,  the  exhortation  seemed  rather  a 
superfluous  one  to  a  man  with  a  great  pair  of  iron  fetters 
on  his  f«et. 


9— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


80  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN  WHICH  PROPERTY  GETS  IN  AN  IMPROPER  STATE  OF  MIND. 

ONE  drizzly  afternoon  a  traveler  alighted  at  the  door 
of  a  small  country  hotel,  in  a  village  in  Kentucky. 
In  the  bar-room  he  found  assembled  quite  a 
miscellaneous  company,  whom  stress  of  weather  had 
driven  to  harbor,  and  the  place  presented  the  usual  scenery 
of  such  reunions.  Great,  tall,  raw-boned  Kentuckians, 
attired  in  hunting-shirts, — rifles  stacked  away  in  the 
corner,  shot-pouches,  game-bags,  hunting-dogs,  and  little 
negroes,  all  rolled  together  in  the  corners, — were  the 
characteristic  features  in  the  picture. 

Into  this  assembly  our  traveler  entered.  He  was  a 
short,  thick-set  man,  carefully  dressed,  with  a  round,  good- 
natured  countenance,  and  something  rather  fussy  and 
particular  in  his  appearance. 

"What's  that  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman,  observing  some 
of  the  company  formed  in  a  group  around  a  large  hand- 
bill. 

"Nigger  advertised!"   said  one  of  the  company,  briefly. 

Mr.  Wilson,  for  that  was  the  old  gentleman's  name, 
rose  up,  and  read  as  follows: 

"Ran  away  from  the  subscriber,  my  mulatto  boy,  George. 
Said  George  six  feet  in  height,  a  very  light  mulatto,  brown 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  81 

curly  hair;  is  very  intelligent,  speaks  handsomely,  can 
read  and  write;  will  probably  try  to  pass  for  a  white  man; 
is  deeply  scarred  on  his  back  and  shoulders;  has  been 
branded  in  his  right  hand  with  a  letter  H. 

"I  will  give  four  hundred  dollars  for  him  alive,  and  the 
same  sum  for  satisfactory  proof  that  he  has  been  killed." 

While  he  was  studying  it,  a  long-legged  man  walked 
up  to  the  advertisement,  and  very  deliberately  spit  a 
mouthful  of  tobacco-juice  on  it. 

"There's  my  mind  upon  that!"  said  he,  briefly,  and  sat 
down  again. 

"Why,  now,  stranger,  what's  that  for?"  said  the  land- 
lord. 

"I'd  do  it  all  the  same  to  the  writer  of  that  ar  paper, 
if  he  was  here,"  said  the  long  man.  "Any  man  that  owns 
a  boy  like  that,  and  can't  find  any  better  way  o'  treating 
on  him,  deserves  to  lose  him.  Such  papers  as  these  is  a 
shame  to  Kentucky;  that's  my  mind  right  out,  if  anybody 
vants  to  know!" 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  the  landlord. 
"I've  got  a  gang  of  boys,  sir,"  said  the  long  man,  "and 
I  jest  tells  'em — 'Boys/  says  I, — 'run  now!  dig!  put!  jest 
when  ye  want  to!  I  never  shall  come  to  look  after  you!' 
That's  the  way  I  keep  mine.  Let  'em  know  they  are  free 
to  run  any  time,  and  it  jest  breaks  up  their  wanting  to. 
More  'n  all,  I've  got  free  papers  for  'em  all  recorded,  in 
case  I  gets  keeled  up  any  o'  these  times,  and  they  knows 
it ;  and  I  tell  ye,  stranger,  there  an't  a  fellow  in  our  parts 
gets  more  out  of  his  niggers  than  I  do.  Why,  my  boys 
have  been  to  Cincinnati,  with  five  hundred  dollars'  worth 


82  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

of  colts,  and  brought  me  back  the  money,  all  straight, 
time  and  agin.  It  stands  to  reason  they  should.  Treat 
'em  like  dogs,  and  you'll  have  dogs'  work  and  dogs'  ac- 
tions. Treat  'em  like  men,  and  you'll  have  men's  work/' 

"I  think  you're  altogether  right,  friend,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
son; "and  this  boy  described  here  is  a  fine  fellow.  He 
worked  for  me  some  half-dozen  years  in  my  bagging  fac- 
tory, and  he  was  my  best  hand,  sir.  He  is  an  ingenious 
fellow,  too;  he  invented  a  machine  for  the  cleaning  of 
hemp — a  really  valuable  affair;  it's  gone  into  use  in  several 
factories.  His  master  holds  the  patent  of  it." 

"I'll  warrant  ye,"  said  the  drover,  "holds  it  and  makes 
money  out  of  it,  and  then  turns  round  and  brands  the  boy 
in  his  right  hand.  If  I  had  a  fair  chance,  I'd  mark  him, 
I  reckon,  so  that  he'd  carry  it  one  while." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  a  well-dressed  gentleman  and  a  colored  servant. 

He  walked  easily  in  among  the  company  and  with  a 
nod  indicated  to  his  waiter  where  to  place  his  trunk, 
bowed  to  the  company,  and,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
walked  up  leisurely  to  the  bar,  and  gave  in  his  name  as 
Henry  Butler,  Oaklands,  Shelby  county.  Turning,  with 
an  indifferent  air,  he  sauntered  up  to  the  advertisement, 
and  read  it  over. 

"Jim,"  he  said  to  his  man,  "seems  to  me  we  met  a  boy 
something  like  this,  up  at  Bernan's,  didn't  we?" 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Jim,,  "only  I  an't  sure  about  the 
hands." 

"Well,  I  didn't  look,  of  course,"  said  the  stransrer,  with 
a  careless  yawn.  Then,  walking  up  to  the  landlord,  he 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


83 


desired  him  to  furnish  him  with  a  private  apartment,  as 
he  had  some  writing  to  do  immediately. 

Mr.  Wilson,  from  the    time    of    the    entrance  of  the 
stranger,  had  regarded  him  with  an  air  of  disturbed  and 


"Henry  Butler,  Oaklands,  Shelby  County." 

uneasy  curiosity.  He  stared  at  the  stranger  with  such  an 
air  of  blank  amazement  and  alarm,  that  he  walked  up  to 
him. 


84  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"Mr.  Wilson,  I  think,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  recognition, 
and  extending  his  hand.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  I  didn't 
recollect  you  before.  I  see  }'ou  remember  me, — Mr.  But- 
ler, of  Oaklands,  Shelby  county." 

"Ye — yes — yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

Just  then  a  negro  boy  entered,  and  announced  that 
MasVs  room  was  ready. 

"Jim,  see  to  the  trunks,"  said  the  gentleman,  negli- 
gently; then  turning  to  Mr.  Wilson,  he  added — "I  should 
like  to  have  a  few  moments'  conversation  with  you  on 
business,  in  my  room,  if  you  please." 

Mr.  Wilson  followed  him,  and  when  they  reached  the 
room,  the  young  man  deliberately  locked  the  door,  and 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

"George !"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"Yes,  George,"  said  the  young  man. 

"0,  George !  but  this  is  a  dangerous  game  you  are  play- 
ing. I  could  not  have  advised  you  to  it." 

"I  can  do  it  on  my  own  responsibility,"  said  George, 
with  the  same  proud  smile. 

After  a  long  conversation,  George  said,  "I  am  going  to 
Canada,  where  the  laws  will  own  me  and  protect  me,  that 
shall  be  my  country,  and  its  laws  I  will  obey.  But  if  any 
man  tries  to  stop  me,  let  him  take  care,  for  I  am  desperate. 
I'll  fight  for  my  liberty  to  the  last  breath  I  breathe.  You 
say  your  fathers  did  it:  if  it  was  right  for  them,  it  is 
right  for  me!" 

"Where  is  your  wife,  George  ?"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"Gone,  sir,  gone,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  the  Lord 
only  knows  where,  and  when  we  ever  meet,  or  whether  we 
meet  at  all  in  this  world,  no  creature  can.  tell." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


85 


"Is  it  possible !  Here,  George/'  and,  taking  out  a  roll 
of  bills  from  his  pocket-book,  he  offered  them  to  George. 

"No,  my  kind,  good  sir!"  said  George.  "I  have  money 
enough,  I  hope,  to  take  me  as  far  as  I  need  it." 


"Where  is  your  wife,  George?" 

"No,  but  you  must,  George.    Take  it,  my  boy!" 
"On  condition,  sir,  that  I  may  repay  it  at  some  future 
time,  I  will,"  said  George,  taking  up  the  money. 


86  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"George,  something  has  brought  you  out  wonderfully. 
You  hold  up  your  head,  and  speak  and  move  like  another 
man/'  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"Because  I'm  a  freeman!"  said  George,  proudly.  "Yes, 
sir;  I've  said  Mas'r  for  the  last  time  to  any  man.  I'm 
free!'* 

"I  declare,  my  very  blood  runs  cold  when  I  think  of 
it, — your  condition  and  your  risks !"  said  Mr.  Wilson. 

"Mr.  Wilson,  one  word  more;  you  have  shown  yourself 
a  Christian  in  your  treatment  of  me, — I  want  to  ask  one 
last  deed  of  Christian  kindness  of  you." 

"Well,  George?" 

"If  you'd  only  contrive,  Mr.  Wilson,  to  send  this  little 
pin  to  her.  She  gave  it  to  me  for  a  Christmas  present, 
poor  child !  Give  it  to  her,  and  tell  her  I  loved  her  to  the 
last.  Will  you?" 

"Yes,  certainly — poor  fellow!"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
taking  the  pin. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  87 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SELECT  INCIDENT  OF  LAWFUL  TRADE. 

MR.  HALEY  and  Tom  jogged  onward  in  their  wagon, 
each,  for  a  time,  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections. 
However,  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  evening  saw 
Haley  and  Tom  comfortably  accommodated  in  Washing- 
ton,— the  one  in  a  tavern,  and  the  other  in  a  jail. 

About  eleven  o'clock  the  next  day,  a  mixed  throng  was 
gathered  around  the  court  house  steps,  waiting  for  a  slave 
auction  to  commence. 

The  different  men  on  the  list  were  soon  knocked  off  at 
prices  which  showed  a  pretty  brisk  demand  in  the  market; 
two  of  them  fell  to  Haley. 

"Come,  now,  young  un,"  said  the  auctioneer,  giving  a 
boy  a  touch  with  his  hammer,  "be  up  and  show  your 
springs,  now." 

"Put  us  two  up  togedder,  togedder, — do  please,  Mas'r," 
said  an  old  woman,  holding  fast  to  her  boy. 

"Be  off,"  said  the  man,  gruffly,  pushing  her  hands  away; 
"you  come  last.  Xow,  darkey,  spring;"  and,  with  the 
word,  he  pushed  the  boy  towards  the  block. 

His  fine  figure,  alert  limbs,  and  bright  face,  raised  an 
instant  competition,  and  half  a  dozen  bids  simultaneously 
met  the  ear  of  the  auctioneer.  Anxious,  half-frightened, 


88  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

he  looked  from  side  to  side,  as  he  heard  the  clatter  of 
contending  bids, — now  here,  now  there, — till  the  hammer 
fell.  Haley  had  got  him.  He  was  pushed  from  the  block 
toward  his  new  master,  but  stopped  one  moment,  and 
looked  back,  when  his  poor  old  mother,  trembling  in  every 
limb,  held  out  her  shaking  hands  towards  him. 

"Buy  me  too,  Mas'r,  for  de  dear  Lord's  sake! — buy 
me, — I  shall  die  if  you  don't!" 

"Y ou'll  die  if  I  do,  that's  the  kink  of  it,"  said  Haley,— 
"no!"  And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Xow!"  said  Haley,  pushing  his  three  purchases  to- 
gether, and  producing  a  bundle  of  handcuffs,  which  he 
proceeded  to  put  on  their  wrists ;  and  fastening  each  hand- 
cuff to  a  long  chain,  he  drove  them  before  him  to  the  jail. 

A  few  days  saw  Haley,  with  his  possessions,  safely  de- 
posited on  one  of  the  Ohio  boats.  It  was  the  commence- 
ment of  his  gang,  to  be  augmented,  as  the  boat  moved  on, 
by  various  other  merchandise  of  the  same  kind,  which  he, 
or  his  agent,  had  stored  for  him  in  various  points  along 
shore. 

The  stripes  and  stars  of  free  America  waved  and  flut- 
tered overhead;  the  guards  were  crowded  with  well- 
dressed  ladies  and  gentlemen  walking  and  enjoying  the 
delightful  day.  All  was  full  of  life,  buoyant  and  rejoic- 
ing;— all  but  Haley's  gang,  who  were  stored,  with  other 
freight,  on  the  lower  deck. 

"Boys,"  said  Haley,  coming  up,  briskly,  "I  hope  you 
keep  up  good  heart,  and  are  cheerful.  Now,  no  sulks, 
ye  see;  keep- a  stiff  upper  lip,  boys;  do  well  by  me,  and  I'D 
do  well  by  you." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


89 


The  boys  addressed  responded  the  invariable  "Yes, 
Mas'r,"  but  they  did  not  look  particularly  cheerful. 

One  day,  when  the  boat  stopped  at  a  small  town  in 
Kentucky,  Haley  went  up  into  the  place  on  a  little  matter 


"Put  us  two  up,  togedder,  togedder." 

of  business.  Tom,  whose  fetters  did  not  prevent  his  tak- 
ing a  moderate  circuit,  had  drawn  near  the  side  of  the 
boat,  and  stood  listlessly  gazing  over  the  railings.  After 


90  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

a  time,  the  trader  returned  with  a  colored  woman,  bear- 
ing in  her  arms  a  young  child.  She  was  dressed  quite  re- 
spectably, and  a  colored  man  followed  her,  bringing  along 
a  small  trunk.  The  woman  came  cheerfully  onward, 
talking,  as  she  came,  with  the  man  who  bore  her  trunk, 
and  so  passed  up  the  plank  into  the  boat.  She  walked 
forward  among  the  boxes  and  bales  of  the  lower  deck, 
and,  sitting  down,  busied  herself  with  chirruping  to  her 
baby.  • 

Soon  Haley  seated  himself  near  her,  and  began  saying 
something  to  her  in  an  undertone. 

Tom  noticed  that  she  answered  rapidly,  and  with  great 
vehemence. 

"I  don't  believe  it, — I  won't  believe  it!"  he  heard  her 
say.  "You're  jist  a  foolin'  with  me." 

"If  you  won't  believe  it,  look  here !"  said  the  man,  draw- 
ing out  a  paper:  "this  yer's  the  bill  of  sale,  and  there's 
your  master's  name  to  it;  and  I  paid  down  good  solid 
cash  for  it,  too,  I  can  tell  you, — so,  now!" 

"I  don't  believe  Mas'r  would  cheat  me  so;  it  can't  be 
true!"  said  the  woman,  with  increasing  agitation. 

"He  told  me  that  I  was  going  down  to  Louisville,  to 
hire  out  as  cook  to  the  same  tavern  where  my  husband 
works, — that's  what  Mas'r  told  me,  his  own  self;  and  I 
can't  believe  he'd  lie  to  me,"  said  the  woman. 

"But  he  has  sold  }rou,  my  poor  woman,  there's  no  doubt 
about  it,"  said  a  good-natured  looking  man,  who  had  been 
examining  the  papers. 

"Then  it's  no  account  talking,"  said  the  woman,  sud- 
denly growing  quite  calm;  and,  clasping  her  child  tighter 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


91 


in  her  arms,  she  sat  down  on  her  box,  turned  her  back 
round,  and  gazed  listlessly  into  the  river. 

"That's  a  fine  chap!"  said  a  man,  suddenly  stopping 
opposite  to  him,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "How 
old  is  he?" 

"Ten  months  and  a  half/'  said  the  mother. 

The  man  whistled  to  the  boy,  and  offered  him  part  of 


"I  don't  believe  it." 

a  stick  of  candy,  which  he  eagerly  grabbed  at,  and  very 
soon  had  it  in  his  mouth.  Then  the  man  whistled  and 
walked  on.  When  he  had  got  to  the  other  side  of  the 
boat,  he  came  across  Haley,  who  was  smoking  on  top  of  a 
pile  of  boxes. 

"They  won't  want  the  young  'un  on  a  plantation,"  said 
the  man. 


92  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

"I  shall  sell  him,  first  chance  I  find/'  said  Haley. 

"I'll  give  thirty  for  him/'  said  the  stranger,  "but  not  a 
cent  more." 

"Now,  I'll  tell  ye  what  I  will  do,"  said  Haley,  "I'll  say 
forty-five;  and  that's  the  most  I  will  do." 

"Well,  agreed!"  said  the  man,  after  an  interval. 

"Done!"  said  Haley.    "Where  do  you  land?" 

"At  Louisville,"  said  the  man. 

"Louisville,"  said  Haley.  "We  get  there  about  dusk. 
Chap  will  be  asleep,  get  him  off  quietly,  and  no  screaming, 
I  like  to  do  everything  quietly, — I  hates  all  kind  of  agita- 
tion and  fluster."  And  so,  after  a  transfer  of  certain  bills 
had  passed  from  the  man's  pocketbook  to  the  trader's. 
he  resumed  his  cigar. 

When  the  boat  stopped  at  the  wharf  at  Louisville,  the 
woman  was  sitting  with  her  baby  in  her  arms.  When 
she  heard  the  name  of  the  place  called  out,  she  hastily 
laid  the  child  down  in  a  little  cradle  formed  by  the  hollow 
among  the  boxes,  first  carefully  spreading  her  cloak  un- 
der it;  and  then  she  sprung  to  the  side  of  the  boat,  in 
hopes  that,  among  the  various  hotel-waiters  who  thronged 
the  wharf,  she  might  see  her  husband.  She  pressed  for- 
ward to  the  front  rails,  and  the  crowd  pressed  in  between 
her  and  the  child. 

"Now's  your  time,"  said  Haley,  taking  the  sleeping  child 
up,  and  handing  him  to  the  stranger.  "Don't  wake  him 
up,  and  set  him  to  crying,  now."  The  man  took  the  bundle 
carefully,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  crowd  that  went  up 
the  wharf. 

When  the  boat  left  the  wharf  the  woman  returned  to 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


93 


her  old  seat.     The  trader  was  sitting  there, — the  child 
was  gone! 

"Why,  why, — where?"  she  began,  in  bewildered  sur- 
prise. 

"Lucy,"  said  the  trader,  "your  child's  gone;  you  may 
as  well  know  it  first  as  last.  You  see,  I  know'd  you 
couldn't  take  him  down  South)  and  I  got  a  chance  to  sell 
him  to  a  first-rate  family, 
that'll  raise  him  better 
than  you  can." 

Dizzily    she    sat    down. 
Her  hands  fell  lifeless  by 
her  side.     Her  eyes  looked  | 
straight  forward,  but  she 
saw   nothing.      The   poor, 
dumb-stricken    heart    had 
neither    cry    nor   tear   to 
show  for  its  utter  misery.  I 
She  was  quite  calm. 

"I  know  this  yer  comes 
kinder  hard,  at  first,  Lucy," 
said  he;  but  such  a  smart, 
sensible    gal    as    you    are,          "But  she  only  groaned." 
won't  give  way  to  it.     You  see  it's  necessary,  and  can't 
be  helped !" 

"0 !  don't,  Mas'r,  don't !"  said  the  woman,  with  a  voice 
like  one  that  is  smothering. 

"You're  a  smart  wench,  Lucy,"  he  persisted;  "I  mean 
to  do  well  by  ye,  and  get  ye  a  nice  place  down  river;  and 
you'll  soon  get  another  husband, — such  a  likely  gal  as 
you—" 


94  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"0!  Mas'r,  if  you  only  won't  talk  to  me  now,"  said  the 
woman,  in  a  voice  of  such  quick  and  living  anguish  that 
the  trader  got  up,  and  the  woman  turned  away,  and 
buried  her  head  in  her  cloak. 

Tom  had  watched  the  whole  transaction  from  first  to 
last,  and  had  a  perfect  understanding  of  its  results.  He 
drew  near,  and  tried  to  say  something;  but  she  only 
groaned.  Honestly,  and  with  tears  running  down  his 
own  cheeks,  he  spoke  of  a  heart  of  love  in  the  skies,  of  a 
pitying  Jesus,  and  an  eternal  home;  but  the  ear  was  deaf 
with  anguish,  and  the  palsied  heart  could  not  feel. 

One  after  another,  the  voices  of  business  or  pleasure 
died  away;  all  on  the  boat  were  sleeping,  and  the  ripples 
at  the  prow  were  plainly  heard.  Tom  stretched  himself 
out  on  a  box,  and  there,  as  he  lay,  he  heard,  ever  and  anon, 
a  smothered  sob  or  cry  from  the  prostrate  creature, — "0 ! 
what  shall  I  do?  0  Lord!  0  good  Lord,  do  help  me!'' 
and  so  ever  and  anon,  until  the  murmur  died  away  in 
silence. 

The  trader  waked  up  bright  and  early,  and  came  out  to 
see  to  his  live  stock.  "Where  alive  is  that  gal?"  he  said 
to  Tom. 

Tom  said  he  did  not  know. 

"She  surely  couldn't  have  got  off  in  the  night  at  any  of 
the  landings,  for  I  was  awake,  and  on  the  look-out,  when- 
ever the  boat  stopped.  I  never  trust  these  yer  things  to 
other  folks." 

Tom  made  no  answer. 

The  trader  searched  the  boat  from  stem  to  stern,  among 
boxes,  bales  and  barrels,  around  the  machinery,  by  the 
chimneys,  in  vain. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  95 

"Now,  I  say,  Tom,  be  fair  about  this  yer,"  he  said,  when, 
after  a  fruitless  search,  he  came  where  Tom  was  standing. 
"You  know*  something  about  it,  now.  Don't  tell  me, — I 
know  you  do." 

"Well,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "towards  morning  something 
brushed  by  me,  and  I  kinder  half  woke;  and  then  I  hearn 
a  great  splash,  and  then  I  clare  woke  up,  and  the  gal  was 
gone.  That's  all  I  know  on  9t" 

The  trader  was  not  shocked  nor  amazed.  He  had  seen 
Death  many  times, — met  him  in  the  way  of  trade,  and 
got  acquainted  with  him,— and  he  only  thought  of  him 
as  a  hard  customer,  that  embarrassed  his  property  opera- 
tions very  unfairly;  and  so  he  only  swore  that  he  was 
unlucky,  and  that,  if  things  went  on  in  this  way,  he  should 
not  make  a  cent  on  the  trip.  He,  therefore,  sat  discon- 
tentedly down,  with  his  little  account-book,  and  put  down 
the  missing  body  and  soul  under  the  head  of  losses! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  QUAKER  SETTLEMENT. 

IN  a  large,  roomy,  neatly  painted  kitchen,  its  yello-w 
floor  glossy  and  smooth,  and  without  a  particle  of 
dust,  sat  our  old  friend  Eliza,  paler  and  thinner 
than  In  her  Kentucky  home,  with  a  world  of  quiet  sorrow 
lying  under  the  shadow  of  her  long  eyelashes,  and  marking 

7— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


96  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

the  outline  of  her  gentle  mouth!  When  her  dark  eyes 
raised  to  follow  the  gambols  of  her  little  Harry,  who  was 
sporting,  hither  and  thither  over  the  floor,  she  showed  a 
depth  of  firmness  and  steady  resolve  that  was  never  there 
in  her  earlier  and  happier  days. 

By  her  side  sat  a  woman  of  fifty-five  or  sixty;  but  with 
one  of  those  faces  that  time  seems  to  touch  only  to 
brighten  and  adorn.  The  snowy  lisse  crape  cap,  made 
after  the  strait  Quaker  pattern, — the  plain  white  muslin 
handkerchief,  lying  in  placid  folds  across  her  bosom, — 
the  drab  shawl  and  dress, — showed  at  once  the  commun- 
ity to  which  she  belonged.  Her  face  was  round  and  rosy, 
and  her  hair,  partially  silvered  by  age,  was  parted  smoothly 
back  from  a  high  placid  forehead. 

"And  so  thee  still  thinks  of  going  to  Canada,  Eliza?" 
she  said. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Eliza,  firmly.  "I  must  go  on.  I 
dare  not  stop." 

"And  what'll  thee  do,  when  thee  gets  there?  Thee 
must  think  about  that,  my  daughter." 

Eliza's  hands  trembled,  and  some  tears  fell  on  her  fine 
work;  but  she  answered,  firmly, 

"I  shall  do — anything  I  can  find.  I  hope  I  can  find 
something." 

"Thee  knows  thee  can  stay  here,  as  long  as  thee  pleases," 
said  Rachel. 

"0,  thank  you,"  said  Eliza,  "but"— she  pointed  to 
Harry — "I  can't  sleep  nights;  I  can't  rest.  Last  night  I 
dreamed  I  saw  that  man  coming  into  the  yard,"  she  said, 
shuddering. 

"Poor  child!"  said  Rachel,  wiping  her  eyes;  "but  thee 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


97 


mustn't  feel  so.  The  Lord  hath  ordered  it  so  that  never 
hath  a  fugitive  been  stolen  from  our  village.  I  trust  thine 
will  not  be  the  first." 


"I  must  go  on.     I  dare  not  stop." 


The  door  here  opened,  and  a  little  short,  round,  pin- 
cushiony  woman  stood  at  the  door,  with  a  cheery,  bloom- 
ing face,  like  a  ripe  apple.  She  was  dressed,  like  Rachel, 


98  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

in  sober  gray,  with  the  muslin  folded  neatly  across  her 
round,  plump  little  chest. 

"Ruth  Stedman,"  said  Rachel,  coming  joyfully  forward; 
"how  is  thee,  Ruth?"  she  said,  heartily  taking  both  her 
hands. 

"Nicely,"  said  Ruth,  taking  off  her  little  drab  bonnet, 
displaying,  as  she  did  so,  a  round  little  head,  on  which 
the  Quaker  cap  sat  with  a  sort  of  jaunty  air. 

"Ruth,"  this  friend  is  Eliza  Harris ;  and  this  is  the  little 
boy  I  told  thee  of." 

"I  am  glad  to  see  thee,  Eliza, — very,"  said  Ruth,  shak- 
ing hands,  as  if  Eliza  were  an  old  friend  she  had  long  been 
expecting;  "and  this  is  thy  dear  boy, — I  brought  a  cake 
for  him,"  she  said,  holding  it  out  to  the  boy,  who  came  up, 
gazing  through  his  curls,  and  accepted  it  shyly. 

Simeon  Halliday,  a  tall,  straight,  muscular  man,  in  drab 
coat  and  pantaloons,  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  now  en- 
tered. 

"How  is  thee,  Ruth?"  he  said,  warmly,  "and  how  is 
John?" 

"0!  John  is  well,  and  all  the  rest  of  our  folks,"  said 
Ruth,  cheerily. 

"Did  thee  say  thy  name  was  Harris?"  said  Simeon  to 
Eliza. 

Eliza  tremulously  answered  "yes,"  her  fears,  ever  upper- 
most, suggesting  that  possibly  there  might  be  advertise- 
ments out  for  her. 

"Mother!"  said  Simeon,  standing  in  the  porch,  and 
calling  Rachel  out. 

"What  does  thee  want,  father?"  said  Rachel,  as  she 
went  out. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  99 

"This  child's  husband  is  in  the  settlement,  and  will  be 
here  to-night/'  said  Simeon. 

"Now,  thee  doesn't  say  that,  father?"  said  Eachel. 

"It's  really  true.  Peter  was  down  yesterday,  to  the 
other  stand,  and  there  he  found  an  old  woman  and  two 
men;  and  one  said  his  name  was  George  Harris;  and,  from 
what  he  told  of  his  history,  I  am  certain  who  he  is.  Shall 
we  tell  her  now?"  said  Simeon. 

"Let's  tell  Ruth,"  said  Rachel.  "Here,  Ruth,— come 
here." 

Ruth  was  in  the  back  porch  in  a  moment. 

"Ruth,  what  does  thee  think?"  said  Rachel.  "Father 
says  Eliza's  husband  is  in  the  last  company,  and  will  be 
here  to-night." 

A  burst  of  joy  from  the  little  Quakeress  interrupted 
the  speech. 

"Hush  thee,  dear!"  said  Rachel,  gently;  "hush,  Ruth! 
Tell  us,  shall  we  tell  her  now?" 

"Now!  to  be  sure, — this  very  minute.  Why,  now  sup- 
pose 't  was  my  John,  how  should  I  feel?  Do  tell  her, 
right  off." 

Rachel  came  to  where  Eliza  was  sewing,  and  opening 
the  door  of  a  small  bedroom  said,  gently,  "Come  in  here 
with  me,  my  daughter;  I  have  news  to  tell  thee." 

"Have  courage,  child,"  said  Rachel,  laying  her  hand  on 
her  head.  "Your  husband  is  among  friends,  who  will  bring 
him  here  to-night." 

"To-night !"  Eliza  repeated,  "to-night !"  The  words  lost 
all  meaning  to  her;  her  head  was  dreamy  and  confused; 
all  was  mist  for  a  moment. 

When  she  awoke,  she  found  herself  snugly  tucked  up 


100 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


on  the  bed,  with  a  blanket  over  her,  and  little  Ruth  rub- 
bing her  hands  with  camphor.  Then  she  slept  as  she  had 
not  slept  before,  since  the  fearful  midnight  hour  when 
she  had  taken  her  child  and  fled  through  the  frosty  star- 
light. 

She  dreamed  of  a  beautiful  country, — a  land,  it  seemed 
to  her,  of  rest, — green  shores,  pleasant  islands,  and  beau- 
tifully glittering  water;  and  there,  in  a  house  which  kind 
voices  told  her  was  a  home,  she  saw  her  boy  playing,  a 


"Her  husband  was  sobbing." 

free  and  happy  child.  She  heard  her  husband's  footsteps; 
she  felt  him  coming  nearer;  his  arms  were  around  her, 
his  tears  falling  on  her  face,  and  she  awoke!  It  was  no 
dream.  The  daylight  had  long  faded;  her  child  lay  calmly 
sleeping  by  her  side;  a  candle  was  burning  dimly  on  the 
stand,  and  her  husband  was  sobbing  by  her  pillow. 

The  next  morning  was  the  first  time  that  ever  George 
had  sat  down  on  equal  terms  at  any  white  man's  table; 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  101 

and  he  sat  at  first,  with  some  constraint  and  awkward- 
ness. 

"I  hope,  my  good  sir,  that  you  are  not  exposed  to  any 
difficulty  on  our  account/7  said  George,  anxiously. 

"Fear  not,  friend  George;  it  is  not  for  thee,  but  for  God 
and  man,  we  do  it,"  said  Simeon.  "And  now  thou  must 
lie  by  quietly  this  day,  and  to-night,  at  ten  o'clock, 
Phineas  Fletcher  will  carry  thee  onward  to  the  next 
stand, — thee  and  the  rest  of  thy  company.  The  pursuers 
are  hard  after  thee;  we  must  not  delay." 

"If  that  is  the  case,  why  wait  till  evening!"  said  George. 

"Thou  art  safe  here  by  daylight,  for  every  one  in  the 
settlement  is  a  Friend,  and  all  are  watching.  It  has  been 
found  safer  to  travel  by  night." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

EVANGELINE. 

AMONG  the  passengers  on  the  boat  that  bore  Haley 
and  his  living  property  was  a  young  gentleman 
of  fortune  and  family,  resident  in  New  Orleans, 
who  bore  the  name  of  St.  Clare.     He  had  with  him  a 
daughter  between  five  and  six  years  of  age,  together  with 


102  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

a  lady  who  seemed  to  claim  relationship  to  both,  and  to 
have  the  little  one  especially  under  her  charge. 

Tom  had  often  caught  glimpses  of  this  little  girl, — for 
she  was  one  of  those  busy  creatures,  that  can  be  no  more 
contained  in  one  place  than  a  sunbeam  or  a  summer 
breeze.  Her  form  was  the  perfection  of  childish  beauty. 
Her  face  was  remarkable  less  for  its  perfect  beauty  of 
feature;  the  deep  spiritual  gravity  of  her  violet  blue  eyes, 
shaded  by  heavy  fringes  of  golden  brown, — all  marked 
her  out  from  other  children,  and  made  every  one  turn  and 
look  after  her,  as  she  glided  hither  and  thither  on  the 
boat. 

Tom  watched  the  little  creature  with  daily  increasing 
interest.  To  him  she  seemed  something  almost  divine; 
and  whenever  her  golden  head  and  deep  blue  eyes  peered 
out  upon  him  from  behind  some  dusky  cotton-bale,  or 
looked  down  upon  him  over  some  ridge  of  packages,  he 
half  believed  that  he  saw  one  of  the  angels  stepped  out 
of  his  New  Testament. 

At  last  they  got  on  quite  confidential  terms. 

"What's  little  missy's  name?"  said  Tom,  at  last,  when 
he  thought  matters  were  ripe  to  push  such  an  inquiry. 

"Evangeline  St.  Clare,"  said  the  little  one,  "though  papa 
and  everybody  else  call  me  Eva.  Now,  what's  your  name  ?" 

"My  name's  Tom;  the  little  chil'en  used  to  call  me 
Uncle  Tom,  way  back  thar  in  Kentuck." 

"Then  I  mean  to  call  you  Uncle  Tom,  because,  you  see, 
I  like  you,"  said  Eva.  "So,  Uncle  Tom,  where  are  you 
going?" 

"I  don't  know,  Miss  Eva." 

"Don't  know?"  said  Eva. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


103 


"N"6.    I  am  going  to  be  sold  to  somebody.    I  don't  know 
who." 

"My  papa  can  buy  you/'  said  Eva,  quickly;  "and  if  he 


"What's  little  Missy's  name?" 


buys  you,  you  will  have  good  times.    I  mean  to  ask  him  to, 
this  very  day." 

"Thank  you,  my  little  lady,"  said  Tom. 

The  boat  here. stopped  at  a  small  landing  to  take  in 


104 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 


wood,  and  Eva,  hearing  her  father's  voice,  bounded  nim- 
bly away.  Tom  rose  up,  and  went  forward  to  offer  his 
service  in  wooding,  for  by  this  time  Haley  allowed  him  to 
go  about  as  he  pleased  on  a  sort  of  parole,  and  soon  was 
busy  among  the  hands. 

Eva  and  her  father  were  standing  together  by  the  rail- 
ing to  see  the  boat  start  from  the  landing-place,  when, 
by  some  sudden  movement,  the  little  one  suddenly  lost 
her  balance,  and  fell  sheer  over  the  side  of  the  boat  into 

the  water.  Her  father, 
scarce  knowing  what  he 
did,  was  plunging  in  after 
her,  but  was  held  back  by 
some  one  behind  him,  who 
saw  that  more  efficient  aid 
had  followed  his  child. 

Tom  was  standing  just 
under  her  on  the  lower 
deck,  as  she  fell.  He  saw 
her  strike  the  water, 
and  sink,  and  was 
after  her  in  a  moment. 
A  broad-chested,  strong-armed  fellow,  it  was  nothing 
for  him  to  keep  afloat  in  the  water  till,  in  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  the  child  rose  to  the  surface,  and  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and,  swimming  with  her 
to  the  boat-side,  handed  her  up,  all  dripping,  to  the 
grasp  of  hundreds  of  hands,  which,  as  if  they  had  all  be- 
longed to  one  man,  were  stretched  eagerly  out  to  receive 
Ji°r.  A  few  moments  more,  and  her  father  bore  her,  drip- 
ping and  senseless,  to  the  ladies'  cabin. 


"He  caught  her  in  his  arms." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  105 

The  next  day  the  steamer  drew  near  to  New  Orleans, 
and1  on  the  lower  deck  sat  our  friend  Tom,  with  his  arms 
folded,  and  anxiously,  from  time  to  time,  turning  his  eyes 
towards  a  group  on  the  other  side  of  the  boat. 

There  stood  the  fair  Evangeline,  a  little  paler  than  the 
day  before,  but  otherwise  exhibiting  no  traces  of  the  acci- 
dent which  had  befallen  her.  A  graceful,  elegantly-formed- 
young  man  stood  by  her,  carelessly  leaning  one  elbow  on  a 
bale  of  cotton,  while  a  large  pocketbook  lay  open  before 
him.  It  was  quite  evident,  at  a  glance,  that  the  gentleman 
was  Eva's  father.  He  was  listening  to  Haley,  who  was 
very  volubly  expatiating  on  the  quality  of  the  article  for 
which  they  were  bargaining. 

"All  the  moral  and  Christian  virtues  bound  in  black 
morocco,  complete!"  he  said,  when  Haley  had  finished. 
"Well,  now,  my  good  fellow,  what  's  the  damage,  as  they 
say  in  Kentucky  ?  How  much  are  you  going  to  cheat  me, 
now?  Out  with  it!" 

"Wai,"  said  Haley,  "if  I  should  say  thirteen  hundred 
dollars  for  that  ar  fellow,  I  should  n't  but  just  save  my- 
self; I  should  n't,  now,  really." 

"Papa,  do  buy  him !  it 's  no  matter  what  you  pay/'  whis- 
pered Eva,  softly.  "You  have  money  enough,  I  know.  I 
want  him." 

"What  for,  pussy  ?  Are  you  going  to  use  him  for  a  rat- 
tlebox,  or  a  rocking-horse,  or  what  ?" 

"I  want  to  make  him  happy." 

"An  original  reason,  certainly." 

Here  the  trader  handed  up  a  certificate,  signed  by  Mr. 
Shelby,  which  the  young  man  took  with  the  tips  of  his 


106 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


fingers,  and  glanced  over  carelessly.     "There,  count  your 
money,"  said  he,  as  he  handed  a  roll  of  bills  to  the  trader. 

"Al  right,"  said  Haley,  his  face  beaming  with  delight; 
and  pulling  out  an  old  inkhorn,  he  proceeded  to  fill  out  a 
bill  of  sale,  which,  in  a  few  moments,  he  handed  to  the 
young  man. 

"Come,  Eva,"  said  St.  Clare,  and  taking  the  hand  of  his ' 
daughter,  he  stepped  across  the  boat,  and  carelessly  put- 
ting the  tip  of  his  finger 
under  Tom's  chin,  said, 
good-humoredly,  "Look 
up,  Tom,  and  see  how  you 
like  your  new  master." 

Tom  looked  up,  and  the 
tears  started  in  his  eyes  as 
he  said,  heartily,  "God 
bless  you,  Mas'r!" 

"Well,  I  hope  He  will. 
What  's  your  name? 
Tom?  Quite  as  likely 
to  do  it  for  your 
asking  as  mine,  from  all  accounts.  Can  you  drive  horses, 
Tom?" 

"I  've  been  allays  used  to  horses,"  said  Tom.  "Mas'r 
Shelby  raised  heaps  on  'em." 

"Well,  I  think  I  shall  put  you  in  coachy,  on  condition 
that  you  won't  be  drunk  more  than  once  a  week,  unless  in 
cases  of  emergency,  Tom." 

Tom  looked  surprised,  and  rather  hurt,  and  said,  "I 
never  drink,  Mas'r." 


"Look   up,    Tom." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  107 

"I  've  heard  that  story  before,  Tom ;  but  then  we  '11  see. 
I  don't  doubt  you  mean  to  do  well." 

"I  sartin  do,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"And  you  shall  have  good  times,"  said  Eva.  "Papa  is 
very  good  to  everybody,  only  he  always  will  laugh  at  them/' 

"Papa  is  much  obliged  to  you  for  his  recommendation," 
said  St.  Clare,  laughing,  as  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
walked  away. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OF  TOM'S  NEW  MASTER,  AND  VARIOUS  OTHER  MATTERS. 

AUGUSTINE  ST.  CLAEE  was  the  son  of  a  wealthy 
planter  of  Louisiana.  In  childhood,  he  was 
remarkable  for  an  extreme  and  marked  sensi- 
tiveness of  character.  As  he  grew  older  he  showed  talent 
of  the  very  first  order,  although  his  mind  showed  a 
preference  always  for  the  ideal  and  the  aesthetic,  and 
there  was  about  him  that  repugnance  to  the  actual 
business  of  life  which  is  the  common  result  of  this 
balance  of  the  faculties.  Soon  after  the  completion  of  his 
college  course,  he  became  the  husband  of  the  reigning 
belle  of  the  season,  who  from  infancy  had  been  surrounded 
by  servants  who  lived  only  to  study  her  caprices.  A  beau- 


108  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

tiful  daughter  was  born  to  them,  but  from  the  time  of  the 
birth  of  the  child,  Marie's  health  gradually  sank,  and  in  a 
few  years  the  blooming  belle  was  changed  into  a  yellow, 
faded,  sickly  woman.  All  family  arrangements  fell  into 
the  hands  of  servants,  and  St.  Clare  found  his  home  any- 
thing but  comfortable.  His  only  daughter  was  exceedingly 
delicate,  and  fearing  that  her  health  and  life  might  fall  a 
sacrifice  to  her  mother's  inefficiency,  he  had  taken  her 
with  him  on  a  tour  to  Vermont,  and  had  persuaded  his 
cousin,  Miss  Ophelia  St.  Clare,  to  return  with  him  to  his 
Southern  residence. 

Miss  Ophelia  stands  before  you,  in  a  very  shining  brown 
linen  traveling  dress,  tall,  square-formed  and  angular.  Her 
face  was  thin,  and  rather  sharp  in  its  outlines;  the  lips 
compressed,  like  those  of  a  person  wrho  is  in  the  habit  of 
making  up  her  mind  definitely  on  all  subjects;  while  the 
keen,  dark  eyes  had  a  peculiarly  searching,  advised  move- 
ment, and  traveled  over  everything,  as  if  they  were  looking 
for  something  to  take  care  of.  All  her  movements  were 
sharp,  decided  and  energetic;  and,  though  she  was  never 
much  of  a  talker,  her  words  were  remarkably  direct,  and 
to  the  purpose,  when  she  did  speak. 

In  her  habits,  she  was  a  living  impersonation  of  order, 
method,  and  exactness.  In  punctuality,  she  was  as  inevita- 
ble as  a  clock;  and  she  held  in  most  decided  contempt  and 
abomination  anything  of  a  contrary  character. 

The  great  sin  of  sins,  in  her  eyes, — the  sum  of  all  evils, 
— was  expressed  by  one  very  common  and  important  word 
in  her  vocabulary — "shiftlessness." 

we  're  ready.    Where  's  your  papa?    I  think  it 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


109 


time  this  baggage  was  set  out.  Do  look  out,  Eva,  and  see 
if  you  see  your  papa." 

"0  yes,  he  's  down  the  other  end  of  the  gentlemen's 
cabin,  eating  an  orange." 

"He  can't  know  how  near  we  are  coming,"  said  aunty; 
"had  n't  you  better  run  and  speak  to  him?" 

"Papa  never  is  in  a  hurry  about  anything,"  said  Eva, 
"and  we  have  n't  come  to  the  landing.  Do  step  on  the 


"Now  we're  ready." 

guards,  aunty.    Look !    there  's  our  house,  up  that  street !" 
"Yes,  yes,  dear;    very  fine,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.     "But 

mercy  on  us!  the  boat  has  stopped!  where  is  your  father?" 
As  the  boat  touched  the  wharf  at  New  Orleans  St.  Clare 

appeared. 

"Well,  Cousin  Vermont,  1  suppose  you  are  all  ready." 
"I  've  been  ready,  waiting,  nearly  an  hour,"  said  Miss 

Ophelia ;  "I  began  to  be  really  concerned  about  you." 


110  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

The  part}r  was  soon  seated  in  a  carriage,  and  on  the  way 
to  St.  Clare's  home. 

"Where's  Tom?"  said  Eva. 

"Oh,  he  's  on  the  outside,  Pussy.  I  'm  going  to  take 
Tom  up  to  mother  for  a  peace-offering,  to  make  up  for 
that  drunken  fellow  that  upset  the  carriage/' 

"0,  Tom  will  make  a  splendid  driver,  I  know,"  said  Eva; 
"he  '11  never  get  drunk." 

Tht  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  an  ancient  mansion, 
built  in  the  Moorish  fashion, — a  square  building  enclosing 
a  courtyard,  into  which  the  carriage  drove  through  an 
arched  gateway.  Wide  galleries  ran  all  around  the  four 
sides,  whose  Moorish  arches,  slender  pillars,  and  arabesque 
ornaments,  carried  the  mind  back  to  the  reign  of  oriental 
romance  in  Spain.  In  the  middle  of  the  court,  a  fountain 
threw  high  its  silvery  water.  Two  large  orange  trees,  now 
fragrant  with  blossoms,  threw  a  delicious  shade;  and, 
ranged  in  a  circle  round  upon  the  turf,  were  marble  vases 
containing  the  choicest  flowering  plants  of  the  tropics. 

As  the  carriage  drove  in,  Eva  seemed  like  a  bird  ready 
to  burst  from  a  cage,  with  the  wild  eagerness  of  her 
delight. 

"0,  is  n't  it  beautiful,  lovely!  my  own  dear,  darling 
home !"  she  said  to  Miss  Ophelia.  "Is  n't  it  beautiful  ?" 

"  'T  is  a  pretty  place,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  as  she  alight- 
ed; "though  it  looks  rather  old  and  heathenish  to  me." 

Tom  got  down  from  the  carriage,  and  looked  about  with 
an  air  of  calm,  still  enjoyment. 

"Tom,  my  boy,  this  seems  to  suit  you,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"Yes,  Mas'r,  it  looks  about  the  right  thing,"  said  Tom. 

All  this  passed  in  a  moment,  while  trunks  were  being 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


Ill 


hustled  off,  kackmen  paid,  and  while  a  crowd,  of  all  ages 
and  sizes,- — men,  women,  and  children, — came  running 
through  the  galleries,  both  above  and  below,  to  see  Mas'r 


Arrival  at  St.    Clare's  mansion. 

come  •  in.  Foremost  among  them  was  a  highly-dressed 
young  mulatto  man,  attired  in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  and 
gracefully  waving  a  scented  handkerchief  in  his  hand. 

8— Uncle   Tom's  Cabin. 


112  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"Back!  all  of  you.  I  am  ashamed  of  you,"  he  said,  in  a 
tone  of  authority.  "Would  you  intrude  on  Master's  do- 
mestic relations,  in  the  first  hour  of  his  return?" 

Owing  to  Mr.  Adolph's  systematic  arrangements,  when 
.St.  Clare  turned  round  from  paying  the  hackman,  there 
was  nobody  in  view  but  Mr.  Adolph  himself,  conspicuous 
in  satin  vest,  gold  guard-chain,  and  white  pants,  and  bow- 
ing with  inexpressible  grace  and  suavity. 

"Ah,  Adolph,  is  it  you?"  said  his  master,  offering  his 
hand  to  him;  "how  are  you,  boy?"  while  Adolph  poured 
forth,  with  great  fluency,  an  extemporary  speech,  which 
he  had  been  preparing,  with  great  care,  for  a  fortnight 
before. 

"Well,  well,"  said  St.  Clare,  passing  on,  with  his  usual 
air  of  negligent  drollery,  "that  's  very  well  got  up, 
Adolph,"  and,  so  saying,  he  led  Miss  Ophelia  to  a  large 
parlor.  Eva  flew  like  a  bird  to  a  little  boudoir.  A  tall, 
dark-eyed,  sallow  woman  half  rose  from  a  couch  on  which 
she  was  reclining.  "Mamma!"  said  she,  embracing  her 
over  and  over  again. 

"That  '11  do, — take  care,  child, — don't,  you  make  my 
head  ache,"  said  the  mother,  after  she  had  languidly 
kissed  her. 

St.  Clare  came  in,  embraced  his  wife  in  husbandly  fash- 
ion, and  then  presented  to  her  his  cousin.  Marie  lifted  her 
large  eyes  on  her  cousin  with  an  air  of  some  curiosity,  and 
received  her  with  languid  politeness.  A  crowd  of  servants 
now  pressed  to  the  entry  door,  and  among  them  a  middle- 
aged  mulatto  woman,  of  very  respectable  appearance,  stood 
foremost,  in  a  tremor  of  expectation  and  joy,  at  the  door. 

"0,  there  's  Mammy!"  said  Eva,  as  she  flew  across  the 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


113 


room;    and,  throwing  herself  into  her  arms,  she  kissed 
her  repeatedly. 

"Well !"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "you  Southern  children  can 
do  something  that  I  could  n't." 

"What  now,  pray?"  said  St.  Clare. 

•"Well,  I  want  to  be  kind  to  everybody,  and  I  would  n't 
have  anything  hurt ;  but  as 
to  kissing — " 

"Niggers/'  said  St. 
Clare,  "that  you  're  not  up 
to,— hey?" 

"Yes,  that  's  it.  How 
can  she?" 

As  St.  Clare  turned  to, 
go  back,  his  eye  fell  upon 
Tom,  who  was  standing 
uneasily,  shifting  from  one 
foot  to  the  other,  while 
Adolph  stood  negligently 
leaning  against  the  banis- 
ters, examining  Tom 
through  an  opera-glass, 


"Pub,  you  puppy." 


with  an  air  that  would  have  done  credit  to  any  dandy 
living. 

"Puh,  you  puppy,"  said  his  master,  "is  that  the 
way  you  treat  your  company  ?  Seems  to  me,  Dolph,"  he 
added,  laying  his  finger  on  the  elegant  figured  satin  vest 
that  Adolph  was  sporting,  "seems  to  me  that  's  my  vest." 

"0!  Master,  this  vest  all  stained;  of  course,  a  gentle- 
man in  Master's  standing  never  wears  a  vest  like  this.  I 


114  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

understood  I  was  to  take  it.  It  does  for  a  poor  nigger- 
fellow,  like  me." 

And  Adolph  tossed  his  head,  and  passed  his  fingers 
through  his  scented  hair,  with  a  grace. 

"So,  that  's  it,  is  it  ?"  said  St.  Clare,  carelessly.  "Well 
here,  I  'm  going  to  show  this  Tom  to  his  mistress,  and  then 
you  take  him  to  the  kitchen;  and  mind  you  don't  put  on 
any  of  your  airs  to  him.  He  's  worth  two  such  puppies  as 
you." 

"See  here,  Marie,"  said  St.  Clare  to  his  wife,  "I've 
bought  you  a  coachman,  at  last,  to  order.  I  tell  you,  he  's 
a  regular  hearse  for  blackness  and  sobriety,  and  will  drive 
you  like  a  funeral,  if  you  want.  Now,  don't  say  I  never 
think  about  you  when  I'm  gone." 

"Well,  I  hope  he  may  turn  out  well,"  said  the  lady;  "it 's 
more  than  I  expect,  though." 

"Dolph,"  said  St.  Clare,  "show  Tom  downstairs;  and, 
mind  yourself,"  he  added;  "remember  what  I  told  you." 

Adolph  tripped  gracefully  forward,  and  Tom,  with  lum- 
bering tread,  went  after. 

"He's  a  perfect  behemoth!"  said  Marie. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  115 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

TOM'S  MISTRESS  AND  HER  OPINIONS. 

AND  now,  Marie/'  said  St.  Clare,  "your  golden  days 
are  dawning.  Here  is  our  practical,  business-like 
New  England  cousin,  who  will  take  the  whole 
budget  of  cares  off  your  shoulders,  and  give  you  time  to 
refresh  yourself,  and  grow  young  and  handsome.  The 
ceremony  of  delivering  the  keys  had  better  come  off 
forthwith." 

This  remark  was  made  at  the  breakfast  table,  a  few 
mornings  after  Miss  Ophelia  had  arrived. 

"I  'm  sure  she  's  welcome,"  said  Marie,  leaning  her  head 
languidly  on  her  hand.  "I  think  she  '11  find  one  thing,  if 
she  does,  and  that  is,  that  it  's  we  mistresses  that  are 
the  slaves,  down  here." 

Evangeline  fixed  her  large,  serious  eyes  on  her  mother's 
face,  and  said,  simply,  "What  do  you  keep  them  for, 
(mamma  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,  except  for  a  plague;  they  are 
the  plague  of  my  life.  I  believe  that  more  of  my  ill-health 
is  caused  by  them  than  by  any  one  thing;  and  ours,  I 
know,  are  the  very  worst  that  ever  anybody  was  plagued 
with." 

"0,  eome,  Marie,  you  've  got  the  blues,  this  morning," 
said  St.  Clare.  "You  know  't  is  n't  so.  There  's  Mammy, 


116 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 


the  best  creature  living, — what  could  you  do  without  her  ?" 
"Now,  Mammy  has  a  sort  of  goodness/7  said  Marie; 
"she  's  smooth  and  respectful,  but  she  's  selfish  at  heart. 
Now,  she  never  will  be  done  fidgeting  and  worrying  about 
that  husband  of  hers.  You  see,  when  I  was  married  and 

came  to  live  here,  of 
course,  I  had  to  bring  her 
with  me,  and  her  husband 
my  father  could  n't  spare. 
He  was  a  blacksmith,  and, 
of  course,  very  necessary; 
and  I  thought  and  said,  at 
the  time,  that  Mammy  and 
he  had  better  give  each 
other  up,  as  it  was  n't  like- 
ly to  be  convenient  for 
them  ever  to  live  together 
again.  I  wish  now  I'd 
insisted  on  it,  and  married 
Mammy  to  somebody  else; 
but  I  was  foolish  and  in- 
dulgent, and  did  n't  want 
to  insist.  I  told  Mammy, 
at  the  time,  that  she 
must  n't  ever  expect  to  see  him  more  than  once  or  twice 
in  her  life  again,  for  the  air  of  father's  place  does  n't  agree 
with  my  health,  and  I  can't  go  there;  and  I  advised  her 
to  take  up  with  somebody  else;  but  no — she  would  n't. 
Mammy  has  a  kind  of  obstinacy  about  her,  in  spots,  that 
everybody  don't  see  as  I  do." 

"Has  she  children?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 


Miss  Ophelia. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


117 


"Yes;  she  has  two." 

"I  suppose  she  feels  the  separation  from  them  ?" 

"Well,  of  course,  I  could  n't  bring  them.     They  were 


"Oh,  Tom,  you  look  so  funny." 


little  dirty  things — I  could  n't  have  them  about ;  and  be- 
sides, they  took  up  too  much  of  her  time;  but  I  believe 
that  Mammy  has  always  kept  up  a  sort  of  sulkiness  about 


118  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

this.  She  won't  marry  anybody  else;  and  I  do  believe, 
now,  though  she  knows  how  necessary  she  is  to  me,  and 
how  feeble  my  health  is,  she  would  go  back  to  her  husband 
to-morrow,  if  she  only  could.  I  do,  indeed,"  said  Marie; 
"they  are  just  so  selfish,  now,  the  best  of  them." 

Miss  Ophelia'rf  eyes  expressed  such  undisguised  amaze- 
ment at  this  speech  that  St.  Clare  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"St.  Clare  always  laughs  when  I  make  the  least  allusion 
to  my  ill-health,"  said  Marie,  with  the  voice  of  a  suffering 
martyr.  "I  only  hope  the  day  won't  come  when  he  '11  re- 
member it!"  and  Marie  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Finally,  St.  Clare  got  up,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said 
he  had  an  engagement  down  street.  Eva  tripped  away 
after  him,  and  Miss  Ophelia  and  Marie  began  a  housewifely 
chat  concerning  cupboards,  linen  presses,  store  rooms,  and 
othef  matters. 

One  day  a  #av  laugh  from  the  court  rang  through  the 
verandah.  St.  Clare  stepped  out,  and  laughed  too. 

"What  is  it  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  coming  to  the  railing. 

There  pat  Tom.  on  a  little  mossy  seat  in  the  court,  every 
one  of  his  buttonholes  stuck  full  of  cape  jessamines,  and 
Eva,  laughing:  gayly,  was  hanging  a  wreath  of  roses  round 
his  neck ;  and  then  she  sat  down  on  his  knee  still  laughing. 

"0,  Tom,  yon  look  so  funny !" 

Tom  had  a  sober,  benevolent  smile,  and  seemed  to  be 
enjo}'ing  the  fun  quite  as  much  as  his  little  mistress.  He 
lifted  his  eyes,  when  he  saw  his  master,  with  a  half- 
deprecating  air. 

"How  can  you  let  her?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"Why  not  ?"  said  St.  Clare. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  119 

"Why,  I  don't  know,  it  seems  so  dreadful !" 

"You  would  think  no  harm  in  a  child's  caressing  a  large 
dog,  even  if  he  was  black;  but  a  creature  that  can  think, 
and  reason,  and  feel,  and  is  immortal,  you  shudder  at; 
confess  it,  cousin.  I  know  the  feeling  among  some  of  you 
Northerners  well  enough.  Not  that  there  is  a  particle  of 
virtue  in  our  not  having  it ;  but  custom  with  us  does  what 
Christianity  ought  to  do, — obliterates  the  feeling  of  per- 
sonal prejudice.  I  have  often  noticed,  in  my  travels 
North,  how  much  stronger  this  was  with  you  than  with 
us.  You  loathe  them  as  you  would  a  snake  or  a  toad,  yet 
you  are  indignant  at  their  wrongs.  Y^ou  would  not  have 
them  abused;  but  you  don't  want  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  them  yourselves.  You  would  send  them  to  Africa, 
out  of  your  sight  and  smell,  and  then  send  a  missionary 
or  two  to  do  up  all  the  self-denial  of  elevating  them  com- 
pendiously. Is  n't  that  it?" 

"Well,  cousin,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  thoughtfully,  "there 
may  be  some  truth  in  this." 

"What  would  the  poor  and  lowly  do,  without  children?" 
said  St.  Clare,  leaning  on  the  railing  and  watching  Eva, 
as  she  tripped  off,  leading  Tom  with  her.  "Your  little 
child  is  your  only  true  democrat.  Tom,  now,  is  a  hero  to 
Eva;  his  stories  are  wonders  in  her  eyes,  his  songs  and 
hymns  are  better  than  an  opera,  and  the  traps  and  little 
bits  of  trash  in  his  pocket  a  mine  of  jewels,  and  he  the 
most  wonderful  Tom  that  ever  wore  a  black  skin.  This  is 
one  of  the  roses  of  Eden  that  the  Lord  has  dropped  down 
expressly  for  the  poor  and  lowly,  who  get  few  enough  of 
any  other  kind." 


(20  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

» 

Marie  always  made  a  point  to  be  very  pious  on  Sundays, 
There  she  stood,  so  slender,  so  elegant,  so  airy,  and  undu- 
lating in  all  her  motions,  her  lace  scarf  enveloping  her 
like  a  mist.  She  looked  a  graceful  creature,  and  she  felt 
very  good  and  very  elegant  indeed.  Miss  Ophelia  stood 
at  her  side,  a  perfect  contrast.  It  was  not  that  she  had 
not  as  handsome  a  silk  dress  and  shawl,  and  as  fine  a 
pocket  handkerchief;  but  stiffness  and  squareness,  and 
bolt-uprightness,  enveloped  her  with  as  indefinite  yet 
appreciable^  a  presence  as  did  grace  her  elegant  neighbor ; 
not  the  grace  of  God,  however, — that  is  quite  another 
thing !  "Where  's  Eva  ?"  said  she. 

The  child  had  stopped  on  the  stairs  to  say  to  Mammy: 
"Dear  Mammy,  I  know  your  head  is  aching  dreadfully." 

"Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Eva!  my  head  allers  aches  lately. 
You  don't  need  to  worry." 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  you  're  going  out;  and  here," — and  the 
little  girl  threw  her  arms  around  her — "Mammy,  you  shall 
take  my  vinaigrette." 

"What !  your  beautiful  gold  thing,  thar,  with  them  dia- 
monds! Lor.  Miss,  't  would  n't  be  proper,  no  ways." 

"Why  not?  You  need  it,  and  I  don't.  Mamma  always 
uses  it  for  headache,  and  it  '11  make  you  feel  better.  Xo, 
you  shall  take  it,  to  please  me,  now." 

"Do  hear  the  darlin'  talk !"  said  Mammy,  as  Eva  thrust 
it  into  her  hand,  and,  kissing  her,  ran  downstairs  to  her 
mother. 

"What  were  you  stopping  for?" 

"I  was  just  stopping  to  give  Mammy  my  vinaigrette,  to 
take  to  church  with  her." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


121 


"Eva!"  said  Marie,  stamping  impatiently, — "your  gold 
vinaigrette  to  Mammy !  When  will  you  learn  what 's  prop- 


"Miss  Ophelia  stood  at  her  side." 

er  ?    Go  right  and  take  it  back,  this  moment !" 

Eva  looked  downcast  and  aggrieved,  and  turned  slowly. 


122  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  say,  Marie,  let  the  child  alone;  she  shall  do  as  she 
wishes,"  said  St.  Clare. 

"St.  Clare,  how  will  she  ever  get  along  in  the  world?" 
said  Marie. 

"The  Lord  knows,"  said  St.  Clare;  "but  she  '11  get  along 
in  heaven  better  than  you  or  I." 

"0,  papa,  don't,"  said  Eva,  softly  touching  his  elbow; 
"it  troubles  mother." 

"Well,  cousin,  are  you  ready  to  go  to  meeting?"  said 
Miss  Ophelia,  turning  square  about  on  St.  Clare. 

"I  'm  not  going,  thank  you." 

"I  do  wish  St.  Clare  ever  would  go  to  church,"  said 
Marie;  "but  he  has  n't  a  particle  of  religion  about  him. 
It  really  is  n't  respectable." 

"I  know  it,"  said  St.  Clare.  "Positively,  it  's  too  much 
to  ask  of  a  man.  Eva,  do  you  like  to  go?  Come,  stay  at 
home  and  play  with  me." 

"Thank  you,  papa ;  but  I  'd  rather  go  to  church." 

"Is  n't  it  dreadful  tiresome?"  said  St.  Clare. 

"I  think  it  is  tiresome,  some,"  said  Eva,  "and  I  am 
sleepy,  too,  but  I  try  to  keep  awake." 

"What  do  you  go  for,  then  ?" 

"Why,  you  know,  papa,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "cousin 
told  me  that  God  wants  to  have  us ;  and  He  gives  us  every- 
thing, you  know;  and  it  is  n't  much  to  do  it,  if  He  wants 
us  to.  It  is  n't  so  very  tiresome,  after  all." 

"You  sweet,  little  obliging  soul !"  said  St.  Clare,  kissing 
her;  "go  along,  that 's  a  good  girl,  and  pray  for  me." 

"Well,  ladies,"  said  St.  Clare,  as  they  were  comfortably 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  123 

seated  at  the  dinner-table,  "and  what  was  the  bill  of  fare 
at  church  to-day?" 

"0,  Dr.  G preached  a  splendid  sermon/'  said  Marie. 

"It  was  just  such  a  sermon  as  you  ought  to  hear;  it  ex- 
pressed all  my  views  exactly." 

"It  must  have  been  very  improving/'  said  St  Clare. 
"The  subject  must  have  been  an  extensive  one." 

"Well,  I  mean  all  my  views  about  society,  and  such 
things,"  said  Marie.  "The  text  was,  'He  hath  made  every- 
thing beautiful  in  its  season  /  and  he  showed  how  all  the 
orders  and  distinctions  in  society  came  from  God;  and  that 
it  was  so  appropriate,  you  know,  and  beautiful,  that  some 
should  be  high  and  some  low,  and  that  some  were  born  to 
rule  and  some  to  serve,  and  all  that,  you  know;  and  he  ap- 
plied it  so  well  to  all  this  ridiculous  fuss  that  is  made  about 
slavery,  and  he  proved  distinctly  that  the  Bible  was  on 
our  side,  and  supported  all  our  institutions  so  convincingly. 
I  only  wish  you'd  heard  him." 

"I  say,  what  do  you  think,  Pussy?"  said  her  father  to 
Eva,  who  came  in  at  this  moment. 

"What  about,  Papa?" 

"Why,  which  do  you  like  the  best, — to  live  as  they  do 
at  your  uncle's,  up  in  Vermont,  or  to  have  a  house  full  of 
[servants,  as  we  do  ?" 

"0,  of  course,  our  way  is  the  pleasantest,"  said  Eva. 

"Why  so?"  said  St.  Clare,  stroking  her  head. 

"Why,  it  makes  so  many  more  round  you  to  love,  you 
know,"  said  Eva,  looking  up  earnestly. 

"Now,  that's  just  like  Eva,"  said  Marie;  "just  one  of 
her  odd  speeches." 


124  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

"Is  it  an  odd  speech,  papa  ?"  said  Eva,  whisperingly,  as 
she  got  upon  his  knee. 

"Bather,  as  this  world  goe?,  Pussy,"  said  St.  Clare. 
"But  where  has  my  little  Eva  been,  all  dinner-time  ?" 

"0,  I  've  been  up  in  Tom's  room,  hearing  him  sing,  and 
Aunt  Dinah  gave  me  my  dinner.'*' 

"Hearing Tom  sing,  hey?" 

"0,  yes!  he  sings  such  beautiful  things  about  the  New 
Jerusalem,  and  bright  angels,  and  the  land  of  Canaan." 

"I  dare  say;  it 's  better  than  the  opera,  is  n't  it?" 

"Yes,  and  he 's  going  to  teach  them  to  me." 

"Singing  lessons,  hey? — you  are  coining  on." 

"Yes,  he  sings  for  me,  and  I  read  to  him  in  my  Bible; 
and  he  explains  what  it  means,  you  know." 

"On  my  word,"  said  Marie,  laughing,  "that  is  the  latest 
joke  of  the  season." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  FREEMAN'S  DEFENCE. 

THE  afternoon  shadows  stretched  eastward,  and  the 
round  red  sun  stood  thoughtfully  on  the  horizon, 
and  his  beams  shone  yellow  and  calm  into  the 
little  bed-room  where  George  and  his  wife  were  sitting. 
"When  we  get  to  Canada,"  said  Eliza,  "I  can  help  you. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


125 


I  can  do  dress-making  very  well;  and  I  understand  fine 
washing  and  ironing;  and  between  us  we  can  find  some- 
thing to  live  on." 

"Yes,  Eliza,  so  long  as  we  have  each  other  and  our  boy. 


"We  are  not  yet  in  Canada." 

0 !  Eliza,  if  these  people  only  knew  what  a  blessing  it  is 
for  a  man  to  feel  that  his  wife  and  child  belong  to  hijwj 
I've  often  wondered  to  see  men  that  could  call  their  wires 
and  children  their  own  fretting  and  worrying  about  any- 


136  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

thing  else.  Why,  I  feel  rich  and  strong,  though  we  have 
nothing  but  our  bare  hands.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  scarcely 
ask  God  for  any  more." 

"But  yet  we  are  not  quite  out  of  danger/'  said  Eliza; 
"we  are  not  yet  in  Canada." 

"True,"  said  George,  "but  it  seems  as  if  I  smelt  the  free 
air,  and  it  makes  me  strong." 

At  this  moment,  voices  were  heard  in  the  outer  apart- 
ment, in  earnest  conversation,  and  very  soon  a  rap  was 
heard  on  the  door.  Eliza  started  and  opened  it. 

Simeon  Halliday  was  there,  and  with  him  a  Quaker 
brother,  whom  he  introduced  as  Phineas  Fletcher. 
Phineas  was  tall  and  red-haired,  with  an  expression  of 
great  acuteness  and  shrewdness  in  his  face. 

"Our  friend  Phineas  hath  discovered  something  of  im- 
portance to  the  interests  of  thee  and  thy  party,  George," 
said  Simeon;  "it  were  well  for  thee  to  hear  it." 

"That  I  have,"  said  Phineas.  "Last  night  I  stopped  at 
a  little  lone  tavern,  back  on  the  road,  and,  after  my  sup- 
per, I  stretched  myself  down  on  a  pile  of  bags  in  the 
corner,  anc^pulled  a  buffalo  robe  over  me,  to  wait  till  my 
bed  was  ready;  and  what  does  I  do,  but  get  fast  asleep.  T 
slept  for  an  hour  or  two,  for  I  was  pretty  well  tired;  but 
when  I  came  to  myself  a  little,  I  found  that  there  were 
some  men  in  the  room,  drinking  and  talking;  and  I 
thought  I'd  just  see  what  they  were  up  to.  'So/  says 
one,  'they  are  up  in  the  Quaker  settlement,  no  doubt/ 
Then  I  listened  with  both  ears,  and  I  found  that  they  were 
talking  about  this  very  party.  So  I  lay  and  heard  them 
Uy  off  all  their  plans.  They've  got  a  right  notion  of  the 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  127 

track  we  are  going  to-night;  and  they'll  be  down  after  us, 
six  or  eight  strong.  So,  now,  what's  to  be  done  ?" 

"What  shall  we  do,  George  ?"  said  Eliza,  faintly. 

"I  know  what  I  shall  do/'  said  George,  as  he  stepped  into 
the  little  room,  and  began  examining  his  pistols. 

"Ay,  ay/'  said  Phineas,  nodding  his  head  to  Simeon; 
"thou  seest,  Simeon,  how  it  will  work." 

"I  see/'  said  Simeon,  sighing;  "I  pray  it  come  not  to 
that." 

"I  don't  want  to  involve  any  one  with  or  for  me/'  said 
George.  "If  you  will  lend  me  your  vehicle  and  direct  me, 
I  will  drive  alone  to  the  next  stand.  Jim  is  a  giant  in 
strength,  and  brave  as  death  and  despair,  and  so  am  I." 

"Ah,  well,  friend/'  said  Phineas,  "but  thee'll  need  a 
driver,  for  all  that." 

"Phineas  is  a  wise  and  skillful  man,"  said  Simeon. 
"Thee  does  well,  George,  to  abide  by  his  judgment;  and," 
he  added,  laying  his  hand  kindly  on  George's  shoulder, 
and  pointing  to  the  pistols,  "be  not  over  hasty  with  these." 

"I  will  attack  no  man,"  said  George.  "All  I  ask  of  this 
country  is  to  be  let  alone,  and  I  will  go  out  peaceably; 
but,  I've  had  a  sister  sold  in  that  N~ew  Orleans  market. 
I  know  what  they  are  sold  for;  and  am  I  going  to  stand 
by  and  see  them  take  my  wife  and  sell  her,  when  God  haa 
given  me  a  pair  of  strong  arms  to  defend  her?  No;  God 
help  me!  I'll  fight  to  the  last  breath,  before  they  shall 
take  my  wife  and  son.  Can  you  blame  me?" 

"Mortal  man  cannot  blame  thee,  George.  Flesh  and 
blood  could  not  do  otherwise,"  said  Simeon. 

"Would  not  even  you,  sir,  do  the  same,  in  my  place  ?" 

9— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


128  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  pray  that  I  be  not  tried/'  said  Simeon;  "the  flesh  ia 
weak." 

"I  think  my  flesh  would  be  pretty  tolerable  strong,  in 
such  a  case,"  said  Phineas,  stretching  out  a  pair  of  arms 
like  the  sails  of  a  windmill.  "I  an't  sure,  friend  George, 
that  I  shouldn't  hold  a  fellow  for  thee,  if  thee  had  any 
accounts  to  settle  with  him." 

"Friend  Phineas  will  ever  have  ways  of  his  own,"  said 
Rachel  Halliday,  smiling. 

"Well,"  said  George,  "isn't  it  best  that  we  hasten  our 
flight?" 

"It  isn't  safe  to  start  till  dark,  at  any  rate;  for  there  are 
some  evil  persons  in  the  villages  ahead,  that  might  be 
disposed  to  meddle  with  us,  if  they  saw  our  wagon,  and 
that  would  delay  us  more  than  the  waiting;  but  in  two 
hours  I  think  we  may  venture.  I  will  go  over  to  Michael 
Cross,  and  engage  him  to  come  behind  on  his  swift  nag, 
and  keep  a  bright  look-out  on  the  road,  and  warn  us  if 
any  company  of  men  come  on.  I  am  going  out  now  to 
warn  Jim  and  the  old  woman  to  be  in  readiness,  and  to 
see  about  the  horse.  We  have  a  pretty  fair  start,  and 
stand  a  good  chance  to  get  to  the  stand  before  they  can 
come  up  with  us.  So,  have  good  courage,  friend  George; 
this  isn't  the  first  ugly  scrape  that  I've  been  in  with  thy 
people,"  said  Phineas,  as  he  closed  the  door. 

"Phineas  is  pretty  shrewd,"  said  Simeon.  "He  will  do 
the  best  that  can  be  done  for  thee,  George.  And  now, 
mother,"  said  he,  turning  to  Rachel,  "hurry  thy  prepara- 
tions for  these  friends,  for  we  must  not  send  them  away 
fasting." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  129 

As  they  were  sitting  down  to  the  supper  table,  a  light 
tap  sounded  at  the  door,  and  Ruth  entered. 

"I  just  ran  in,"  she  said,  "with  these  little  stockings  for 
the  boy, — three  pair,  nice,  warm  woolen  ones.  It  will  be 
so  cold,  thee  knows,  in  Canada.  Does  thee  keep  up  good 
courage,  Eliza  ?"  she  added,  tripping  round  to  Eliza's  side 
of  the  table,  and  shaking  her  warmly  by  the  hand,  and 
slipping  a  seed-cake  into  Harry's  hand.  "I  brought  a 
little  parcel  of  these  for  him,"  she  said,  tugging  at  her 
pocket  to  get  out  the  package.  "Children,  thee  knows, 
will  always  be  eating." 

"0,  thank  you;  you  are  too  kind,"  said  Eliza. 

"Come,  Ruth,  sit  down  to  supper,"  said  Rachel. 

"I  couldn't,  any  way.  So,  good-by,  Eliza ;  •  good-by, 
George;  the  Lord  grant  thee  a  safe  journey;"  and  Ruth 
left  the  room. 

A  little  while  after  supper,  a  large  covered-wagon  drew 
up  before  the  door.  Eliza  was  handed  into  the  carriage  by 
Simeon,  and,  creeping  into  the  back  part  with  her  boy, 
sat  down  among  the  buffalo-skins.  The  old  woman  was 
next  handed  in  and  seated,  and  George  and  Jim  placed  on 
a  rough  board  seat  front  of  them,  and  Phineas  mounted 
in  front. 

"Farewell,  my  friends,"  said  Simeon,  from  without. 

"God  bless  you!"  answered  all  from  within. 

The  wagon  drove  off,  rattling  and  jolting  over  the  frozen 
road,  over  wide,  dreary  plains, — up  hills,  and  down  val- 
leys,— and  on,  on,  on  they  jogged,  hour  after  hour. 

About  three  o'clock  George's  ear  caught  the  hasty  and 
decided  click  of  a  horse's  hoof  coming  behind  them  at  some 
distance.  Phineas  pulled  up  his  horses,  and  listened, 


130  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

"That  must  be  Michael/'  he  said;  "I  think  I  know  the 
sound  of  his  gallop;"  and  he  rose  up  and  stretched  his 
head  anxiously  back  over  the  road. 

A  man  riding  in  hot  haste  was  now  dimly  descried  at 
the  top  of  a  distant  hill. 

"There  he  is,  I  do  believe !"  said  Phineas.  George  and 
Jim  both  sprang  out  of  the  wagon,  before  they  knew  what 
they  were  doing.  On  he  came. 

"Yes,  that's  Michael!"  said  Phineas;  and,  raising  hia 
voice,  "Halloa,  there,  Michael!" 

"Phineas!  is  that  thee?" 

"Yes ;  what  news — they  coming  ?" 

"Right  on  behind,  eight  or  ten  of  them,  hot  with  brandy, 
swearing  and  foaming  like  so  many  wolves." 

"In  with  you, — quick,  boys,  in !"  said  Phineas.  "If  you 
must  fight,  wait  till  I  get  you  a  piece  ahead."  And,  with 
the  words,  both  jumped  in,  and  Phineas  lashed  the  horses 
to  a  run,  the  horseman  keeping  close  beside  them.  The 
pursuers  gained  on  them  fast;  the  carriage  made  a  sudden 
turn,  and  brought  them  near  a  ledge  of  a  steep  overhang- 
ing rock,  that  rose  in  an  isolated  ridge  or  clump,  which 
seemed  to  promise  shelter  and  concealment.  It  was  a 
place  well  known  to  Phineas,  and  it  was  to  gain  this  point 
he  had  been  racing  his  horses. 

"Now  for  it!"  said  he,  suddenly  checking  his  horses, 
and  springing  from  his  seat  to  the  ground.  "Out  with 
you,  in  a  twinkling,  every  one,  and  up  into  these  rocks  with 
me.  Michael,  thee  tie  thy  horse  to  the  wagon,  and  drive 
ahead  to  Amariah's,  and  get  him  and  his  boys  to  come 
back  and  talk  to  these  fellows." 

In  a  twinkling  they  were  all  out  of  the  carriage. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  131 

"There,"  said  Phineas,  catching  up  Harry,  "you,  each 
of  you,  see  to  the  women;  and  run,  now,  if  you  ever  did 
run!" 

"Come  ahead,"  said  Phineas,  as  they  saw,  in  the  mingled 
starlight  and  dawn,  the  traces  of  a  rude  but  plainly  marked 
foot-path  leading  up  among  them;  "this  is  one  of  our  old 
hunting-dens.  Come  up!" 

Phineas  went  before,  springing  up  the  rocks  like  a  goat, 
with  the  boy  in  his  arms.  Jim  came  second,  bearing  his 
trembling  old  mother  over  his  shoulder,  and  George  and 
Eliza  brought  up  the  rear.  The  party  of  horsemen  came 
up  to  the  fence,  and,  with  mingled  shouts  and  oaths,  were 
dismounting,  to  prepare  to  follow  them.  A  few  moments' 
scrambling  brought  them  to  the  top  of  the  ledge;  the 
path  then  passed  between  a  narrow  defile,  where  only  one 
could  walk  at  a  time,  till  suddenly  they  came  to  a  rift  or 
chasm  more  than  a  yard  in  breadth,  and  beyond  which  lay 
a  pile  of  rocks,  separate  from  the  rest  of  the  ledge,  stand- 
ing full  thirty  feet  high,  with  its  sides  steep  and  perpen- 
dicular as  those  of  a  castle.  Phineas  easily  leaped  tho 
chasm,  and  sat  down  the  boy  on  a  smooth,  flat  platform 
of  crisp  white  moss,  that  covered  the  top  of  the  rock. 

"Over  with  you!"  he  called;  "spring,  now,  once,  for  your 
lives !"  said  he,  as  one  after  another  sprang  across.  Several 
fragments  of  loose  stone  formed  a  kind  of  breast-work, 
which  sheltered  their  position  from  the  observation  of 
those  below. 

"Well,  here  we  all  are,"  said  Phineas,  "Let  'em  get  us, 
if  they  can.  Whoever  comes  here  has  to  walk  single  file 
between  those  two  rocks,  in  fair  range  of  your  pistols,  boyi, 
d'ye  see?" 


132  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  do  see,"  said  George;  "and  now,  as  this  matter  is 
ours,  let  us  take  all  the  risk,  and  dc  all  the  fighting." 

"Thee's  quite  welcome  to  do  the  fighting,  George,"  said 
Phineas,  "hut  I  may  have  the  fun  of  looking  on,  I  sup- 
pose. But  see,  these  fellows  are  kinder  debating  down 
there.  Hadn't  thee  better  give  'em  a  word  of  advice,  be- 
fore they  come  up,  just  to  tell  'em  they'll  be  shot  if  they 
do?" 

The  party  beneath  consisted  of  our  old  acquaintances, 
Tom  Loker  and  Marks,  with  two  constables,  and  a  posse 
consisting  of  such  rowdies  as  could  be  engaged  by  a  little 
brandy  to  go  and  help  the  fun  of  trapping  a  set  of  nig- 
gers. 

At  this  moment,  George  appeared  on  the  top  of  a  rock 
above  them,  and  speaking  in  a  calm,  clear  voice,  said, 

"Gentlemen,  who  are  you,  down  there,  and  what  do  you 
want?" 

"We  want  a  party  of  runaway  niggers,"  said  Tom  Loker. 
"One  George  Harris,  and  Eliza  Harris,  and  their  son,  and 
Jim  Selden,  and  an  old  woman.  We've  got  the  officers, 
here,  and  a  warrant  to  take  'em;  and  we're  going  to  have 
'em,  too.  D'ye  hear  ?  An't  .you  George  Harris,  that  be- 
longs to  Mr.  Harris,  of  Shelby  county,  Kentucky  ?" 

"I  am  George  Harris.  A  Mr.  Harris,  of  Kentucky,  did 
call  me  his  property.  But  now  I'm  a  free  man,  standing 
on  God's  free  soil;  and  my  wife  and  my  child  I  claim  as 
mine.  Jim  and  his  mother  are  here.  We  have  arms  to 
defend  oujselves,  and  we  mean  to  do  it.  You  can  come 
up,  if  you  like;  but  the  first  one  of  you  that  comes  within 
the  range  of  our  bullets  is  a  dead  man,  and  the  next  and 
the  next;  and  so  on  till  the  last." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  133 

"0,  come!  come!"  said  a  short  puffy  man,  stepping  for- 
ward, and  blowing  his  nose  as  he  did  so.  "Young  man, 
this  an't  no  kind  of  talk  at  all  for  you.  You  see,  we're 
officers  of  justice.  We've  got  the  law  on  our  side,  so  you'd 
better  give  up  peaceably,  you  see." 

"I  know  very  well  that  you've  got  the  law  on  your  side, 
and  the  power,"  said  George,  bitterly.  "You  mean  to  take 
my  wife  to  sell  in  New  Orleans,  and  put  my  boy  like  a  calf 
in  a  trader's  pen,  and  send  Jim's  old  mother  to  the  brute 
that  whipped  and  abused  her  before,  because  he  couldn't 
abuse  her  son.  You  want  to  send  Jim  and  me  back  to 
be  whipped  and  tortured,  and  ground  down  under  the  heels 
of  them  that  you  call  masters ;  and  your  laws  will  bear  you 
out  in  it, — more  shame  for  you  and  them!  But  you 
haven't  got  us.  We  don't  own  your  laws;  we  don't  own 
your  country;  we  stand  here  as  free,  under  God's  sky,  as 
you  are ;  and,  by  the  great  God  that  made  us,  we'll  fight  for 
our  liberty  till  we  die." 

The  attitude,  eye,  voice,  manner,  of  the  speaker,  for  a 
moment  struck  the  party  below  to  silence.  Marks  was 
the  only  one  who  remained  wholly  untouched.  He  was 
deliberately  cocking  his  pistol,  and,  in  the  silence  that 
followed  George's  speech,  he  fired  at  him. 

"Ye  see  ye  get  jist  as  much  for  him  dead  as  alive  in 
Kentucky,"  he  said,  coolly,  as  he  wiped  his  pistol  on  his 
coat-sleeve. 

George  sprang  backward, — Eliza  uttered  a  shriek, — the 
ball  had  passed  close  to  his  hair,  had  nearly  grazed  the 
cheek  of  his  wife,  and  struck  in  the  tree  above. 

"It's  nothing,  Eliza,"  said  George,  quickly. 

"Now,  Jim,"  said  George,  "look  that  your  pistols  are 


134  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

all  right,  and  watch  that  pass  with  me.  The  first  man 
that  shows  himself  I  fire  at;  you  take  the  second,  and  so 
on.  It  won't  do,  you  know,  to  waste  two  shots  on  one." 

"But  what  if  you  don't  hit?" 

"I  shall  hit,"  said  George,  coolly. 

"Good!  now,  there's  stuff  in  that  fellow,"  muttered 
Phineas,  between  his  teeth. 

The  party  below,  after  Marks  had  fired,  stood,  for  a 
moment,  rather  undecided. 

"I  think  you  must  have  hit  some  on'em,"  said  one  of  the 
men.  "I  heard  a  squeal!" 

"I'm  going  right  up  for  one,"  said  Tom.  "I  never  was 
afraid  of  niggers,  and  I  an't  going  to  be  now." 

One  of  the  most  courageous  of  the  party  followed  Tom, 
and,  the  way  being  thus  made,  the  whole  party  began 
pushing  up  the  rock.  On  they  came,  and  in  a  moment  the 
burly  form  of  Tom  appeared  in  sight,  almost  at  the  verge 
of  the  chasm. 

George  fired, — the  shot  entered  his  side, — but,  though 
wounded,  he  would  not  retreat,  but,  with  a  yell  like  that  of 
a  mad  bull,  he  was  leaping  right  across  the  chasm  into  the 
party. 

"Friend,"  said  Phineas,  suddenly  stepping  to  the  front, 
and  meeting  him  with  a  push  from  his  long  arms,  "thee 
isn't  wanted  here." 

Down  he  fell  into  the  chasm,  crackling  down  among 
trees,  bushes,  logs,  loose  stones,  till  he  lay,  bruised  and 
groaning,  thirty  feet  below.  The  fall  might  have  killed 
him,  had  it  not  been  broken  by  his  clothes  catching  in  the 
branches  of  a  large  tree;  but  he  came  down  with  some 
force,  however, — more  than  was  at  all  agreeable. 


"But  you  haven't  got  us." 


185 


136  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  say,  fellers/'  said  Marks,  "you  jist  go  round  and  pick 
up  Tom,  there,  while  I  run  and  get  on  to  my  horse,  to  go 
back  for  help/'  and,  without  minding  the  hootings  and 
jeers  of  his  company,  Marks  galloped  away. 

"Was  ever  such  a  sneaking  varmint?"  said  one  of  the 
men ;  "to  come  on  his  business,  and  he  clear  out  and  leave 
us  this  yer  way!" 

"Well,  we  must  pick  up  that  feller/'  said  another. 

The  men,  led  by  the  groans  of  Tom,  scrambled  to  where 
he  lay  groaning* 

"Ye  keep  it  agoing  pretty  loud,  Tom,"  said  one.  "Ye 
much  hurt?" 

"Don't  know.  Get  me  up,  can't  ye  ?  Blast  that  infernal 
Quaker !  If  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  I'd  a  pitched  some  on 
'em  down  here,  to  see  how  they  liked  it." 

With  much  labor  he  was  assisted  to  rise;  and,  with  one 
holding  him  up  under  each  shoulder,  they  got  him  as  far 
as  the  horses. 

"If  you  could  only  get  me  a  mile  back  to  that  ar  tavern. 
Give  me  a  handkerchief  or  something,  to  stuff  into  this 
place,  and  stop  this  infernal  bleeding." 

George  looked  over  the  rocks,  and  saw  them  trying  to 
lift  the  burly  form  of  Tom  into  the  saddle.  After  two  or 
three  ineffectual  attempts,  he  reeled,  and  fell  heavily  to 
the  ground. 

"0,  I  hope  he  isn't  killed!"  said  Eliza. 

"On  my  word,  they're  leaving  him,  I  do  believe,"  said 
Phineas. 

It  was  true;  for  after  some  consultation,  the  whole 
party  got  on  their  horses  and  rode  away.  When  they  were 
quite  out  of  sight,  Phineas  began  to  bestir  himself. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  137 

"Well,  we  must  go  down  and  walk  a  piece/'  he  said. 
M  told  Michael  to  go  forward  and  bring  help,  and  be  along 
back  here  with  the  wagon;  but  we  shall  have  to  walk  a 
piece  along  the  road,  I  reckon  to  meet  them.  The  Lord 
grant  he  be  along  soon!" 

As  the  party  neared  the  fence,  they  discovered  in  the 
distance,  along  the  road,  their  own  wagon  coming  back, 
accompanied  by  some  men  on  horseback. 

"Well,  now,  there's  Michael,  and  Stephen,  and  Ama- 
riah !"  exclaimed  Phineas,  joyf ully.  "]N"ow  we  are  as  safe 
as  if  we'd  got  there." 

"Well,  do  stop,  then,"  said  Eliza,  "and  do  something  for 
that  poor  man;  he's  groaning  dreadfully." 

"It  would  be  no  more  than  Christian,"  said  George; 
"let's  take  him  up  and  carry  him  on." 

" And  doctor  him  up  among  the  Quakers !"  said  Phineas ; 
"Well,  I  don't  care  if  we  do."  And  Phineas,  who,  in  the 
course  of  his  backwoods  life,  had  acquired  some  rude  ex- 
perience of  surgery,  kneeled  down  by  the  wounded  man, 
and  began  a  careful  examination  of  his  condition. 

"Marks,"  said  Tom,  feebty,  "is  that  you,  Marks?" 

"ISTo;  I  reckon  't  an't,  friend,"  said  Phineas.  "Much 
Marks  cares  for  thee,  if  his  own  skin's  safe.  He's  off,  long 
ago." 

"I  believe  I'm  done  for,"  said  Tom.  "The  sneaking  dog, 
to  leave  me  to  die  alone !  My  poor  old  mother  always  told 
me  't  would  be  so." 

"La  sakes !  jist  hear  the  poor  crittur.  He's;  got  a  mam- 
my, now/'  said  the  old  negress.  "I  can't  help  kinder 
pityin'  on  him." 

"Softly,  softly;  don't  thee  snap  and  snarl,  friend,"  said 


138  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Phineas,  as  Tom  winced  and  pushed  his  hand  away.  "Thee 
has  no  chance,  unless  I  stop  the  bleeding." 

"'You  pushed  me  down  there,"  said  Tom,  faintly. 

"Well,  if  I  hadn't,  thee  would  have  pushed  us  down, 
thee  sees,"  said  Phineas.  "There,  let  me  fix  this  bandage. 
We  mean  well  to  thee;  we  bear  no  malice.  Thee  shall  be 
taken  to  a  house  where  they'll  nurse  thee  first  rate, — as 
well  as  thy  own  mother  could." 

The  other  party  now  came  up.  The  seats  were  taken  out 
of  the  wagon,  and  four  men,  with  great  difficulty,  lifted 
the  heavy  form  of  Tom  into  it.  Before  he  was  gotten  in, 
he  fainted  entirely. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  said  George,  who  sat  by 
Phineas  in  front. 

"Well,  it's  only  a  pretty  deep  flesh-wound;  but,  then, 
tumbling  and  scratching  down  that  place  didn't  help  him 
much;  but  he'll  get  over  it,  and  may  be  learn  a  thing  or 
two  by  it." 

"What  shall  you  do  with  him?"  said  George. 

"0,  carry  him  along  to  Amariah's.  There's  old  Grand- 
mam  Stephens  there, — Dorcas,  they  call  her, — she's  most 
an  amazin'  nurse.  She  takes  to  nursing  real  natural,  and 
an't  never  better  suited  than  when  she  gets  a  sick  body  to 
tend." 

A  ride  of  about  an  hour  more  brought  the  party  to  a 
neat  farm  house,  where  the  weary  travellers  found  an 
abundant  breakfast.  Tom  Loker  was  soon  carefully  de- 
posited in  a  much  cleaner  and  softer  bed  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  the  habit  of  occupying.  His  wound  was  carefully 
dressed  and  bandaged,  and  he  lay  languidly  opening  and 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


139 


shutting  his  eyes  on  the  white  window  curtains  and  gently 
gliding  figures  of  his  sick  room,  like  a  weary  child. 


"Languidly  opening  and  shutting  his  eyes/' 


140  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MISS  OPHELIA'S  EXPERIENCES  AND  OPINIONS. 

TOM  soon  won  the  confidence  of  St.  Clare  and  grad- 
ually all  the  marketing  and  providing  for  the 
family  were  entrusted  to  him.  He  had  every 
facility  and  temptation  to  dishonesty;  hut  his  impregna- 
ble simplicity  of  nature,  strengthened  by  Christian  faith 
kept  him  from  it. 

One  evening  St.  Clare  attended  a  convivial  party  and 
was  helped  home  between  one  and  two  o'clock,  and  put  to 
bed  by  Adolph  and  Tom. 

"Well,  Tom,  what  are  you  waiting  for?"  said  St.  Clare, 
the  next  day,  as  he  sat  in  his  library.  He  had  just  been 
entrusting  Tom  with  some  money,  and  various  commis- 
sions. "Isn't  all  right  there,  Tom?"  he  added,  as  Tom 
still  stood  waiting. 

"I'm  'fraid  not,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  with  a  grave  face. 

St.  Clare  laid  down  his  paper,  and  looked  at  Tom. 

"Why,  Tom,  what's  the  case?  You  look  as  solemn  as  a 
.coffin." 

"I  feel  very  bad.  Mas'r.  I  always  have  thought  that 
Mas'r  would  be  good  to  everybody." 

"Well,  Tom,  haven't  I  been  ?  Come,  now,  what  do  you 
want  ? 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


141 


"Mas'r  allays  been  good  to  me.  I  haven't  nothing  to 
complain  of,  on  that  head.  But  there  is  one  that  Has'r 
isn't  good  to." 

"Why,  Tom,  what's  got  into  you?  Speak  out;  what  do 
you  mean?" 

"Last  night,  between  one  and  two,  I  thought  so.  I 
studied  upon  the  matter  then.  Mas'r  isn't  good  to  him- 
self." 


"O,  my  dear  young  Mas'r!" 

St.  Clare  felt  his  face  flush  crimson,  but  he  laughed. 

"Oh,  that's  all,  is  it?"  he  said,  gayly. 

"All!"  said  Tom,  turning  suddenly  round,  and  falling 
on  his  knees.  "0,  my  dear  young  Mas'r!  I'm  'fraid  it 
will  be  loss  of  all — all — body  and  soul.  The  good  Book 
says,  'it  biteth  like  a  serpent  and  stingeth  like  an  adder!' 
my  dear  Mas'r!" 

Tom's  voice  choked  and  the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks, 


142  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"You  poor,  silly  fool !"  said  St.  Clare,  with  tears  in  his 
own  eyes.  "Get  up,  Tom.  I'm  not  worth  crying  over." 

But  Tom  wouldn't  rise,  and  looked  imploring. 

"Well,  I  won't  go  to  any  more  of  their  cursed  non- 
sense, Tom/'  said  St.  Clare;  "on  my  honor,  I  won't.  I 
don't  know  why  I  haven't  stopped  long  ago.  I've  always 
despised  it,  and  myself  for  it.  There,  I'll  pledge  my  honor 
to  you,  Tom,  you  don't  see  me  so  again,"  he  said;  and 
Tom  went  off,  wiping  his  eyes  with  great  satisfaction. 

"I'll  keep  my  faith  with  him,  too/'  said  St.  Clare,  as  he 
closed  the  door. 

And  he  did, — for  gross  sensualism,  in  any  form,  was 
not  the  peculiar  temptation  of  his  nature. 

Meanwhile,  our  friend  Miss  Ophelia  had  begun  the 
labors,  of  a  Southern  housekeeper,  and  her  first  visit  was 
to  the  domains  of  Dinah,  the  cook. 

Dinah,  who  required  large  intervals  of  reflection  and 
repose,  and  was  studious  of  ease  in  all  her  arrangements, 
was  seated  on  the  kitchen  floor,  smoking  a  short,  stumpy 
pipe,  to  which  she  was  much  addicted,  and  which  she 
always  kindled  up,  as  a  sort  of  censer  whenever  she  felt 
the  need  of  an  inspiration  in  her  arrangements. 

When  Miss  Ophelia  entered  the  kitchen,  Dinah  did  not 
rise,  but  smoked  on  in  sublime  tranquility. 

Miss  Ophelia  commenced  opening  a  set  of  drawers. 

"What  is  this  drawer  for,  Dinah  ?"  she  said. 

"It's  handy  for  most  anything,  Missis,"  said  Dinah. 
Miss  Ophelia  pulled  out  first  a  fine  damask  table-cloth 
stained  with  blood,  having  evidently  been  used  to  envelop 
some  raw  meat. 


I 


I 

s 


IO— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


143 


144  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"What's  this,  Dinah  ?  You  don't  wrap  up  meat  in  your 
mistress'  best  table-cloths?" 

"0,  Lor,  Missis,  no;  the  towels  was  all  a  missin', — so  I 
jest  did  it.  I  laid  out  to  wash  that  ar, — that's  why  I  put 
it  thar." 

"Shif'less!"  said  Miss  Ophelia  to  herself,  proceeding  to 
tumble  over  the  drawer,  where  she  found  a  nutmeg-grater 
and  two  or  three  nutmegs,  a  Methodist  hymn-book,  a 
couple  of  soiled  Madras  handkerchiefs,  some  yarn  and 
knitting-work,  a  paper  of  tobacco  and  a  pipe,  a  few  crack- 
ers, one  or  two  gilded  china-saucers  with  some  pomade  in 
them,  one  or  two  thin  old  shoes,  a  piece  of  flannel  carefully 
pinned  up  enclosing  some  small  white  onions,  several 
damask  table-napkins,  some  coarse  crash  towels,  some 
twine  and  darning-needles,  and  several  broken  papers, 
from  which  sundry  sweet  herbs  were  sifting  into  the 
drawer. 

"Where  do  you  keep  your  nutmegs,  Dinah  ?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia,  with  the  air  of  one  who  prayed  for  patience. 

"Most  anywhar,  Missis ;  there's  some  in  that  cracked  tea- 
cup, up  there,  and  there's  some  over  in  that  ar  cupboard." 

"Here  are  some  in  the  grater,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  hold- 
ing them  up. 

"Laws,  yes,  I  put  'em  there  this  morning, — I  likes  to 
keep  my  things  handy,"  said  Dinah.  "You,  Jake!  what 
are  you  stopping  for!  You'll  cotch  it!  Be  still,  thar!" 
she  added,  with  a  dive  of  her  stick  at  the  criminal. 

"What's  this  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  holding  up  the  saucer 
of  pomade. 

"Laws,  it's  my  har  grease; — I  put  it  thar  to  have  it 
handy.'' 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  145 

"Do  you  use  your  mistress'  best  saucers  for  that?" 

"Law!  it  was  cause  I  was  driv,  and  in  sich  a  hurry; — I 
was  gwine  to  change  it  this  very  day/' 

"Here  are  two  damask  table-napkins." 

"Them  table-napkins  I  put  thar,  to  get  'em  washed  out, 
some  day." 

"Don't  you  have  some  place  here  on  purpose  for  things 
to  be  Avashed  ?" 

"Well,  Mas'r  St.  Clare  got  dat  ar  chest,  he  said,  for  dat ; 
but  I  likes  to  mix  up  biscuit  and  hev  my  things  on  it  some 
days,  and  then  it  an't  handy  a  liftin'  up  the  lid." 

"Why  don't  you  mix  your  biscuits  on  the  pastry-table, 
there?" 

"Law,  Missis,  it  gets  sot  so  full  of  dishes,  and  one  thing 
and  another,  der  an't  no  room,  noways — " 

"But  you  should  wash  your  dishes,  and  clear  them 
away." 

"Wash  my  dishes!"  said  Dinah,  in  a  high  key;  "what 
does  ladies  know  'bout  work,  I  want  to  know?  When'd 
Mas'r  ever  get  his  dinner,  if  I  was  to  spend  all  my  time  a 
washin'  and  a  puttin'  up  dishes  ?" 

Miss  Ophelia  lifted  out  the  papers  of  sweet  herbs. 

"If  Missis  only  will  go  upstairs  till  my  clarin'  up  time 
comes,  I'll  have  everything  right;  but  I  can't  do  nothin' 
when  ladies  is  round,  a  henderin'." 

"I'm  going  through  the  kitchen,  and  going  to  put  every- 
thing in  order,  once,  Dinah;  and  then  I'll  expect  you  to 
Keep  it  so." 

"Lor,  now!  Miss  Phelia;  dat  ar  an't  no  way  for  ladies  to 
do,"  and  Dinah  stalkecj  indignantly  about,  while  Miss 
Ophelia  piled  and  sorted  dishes,  emptied  dozens  of  scatter- 


146  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

ing  bowls  of  sugar  into  one  receptacle,  sorted  napkins, 
table-cloths,  and  towels,  for  washing;  washing,  wiping, 
and  arranging  with  her  own  hands,  and  with  a  speed  and 
alacrity  which  perfectly  amazed  Dinah. 

To  do  Dinah  justice,  she  had,  at  irregular  periods, 
paroxysms  of  reformation  and  arrangement,  which  she 
called  "clarin'  up  times,"  when  she  would  begin  with  great 
zeal,  and  turn  every  drawer  and  closet  wrong  side  outward, 
on  to  the  floor  or  tables,  and  make  the  ordinary  confusion 
seven-fold  more  confounded. 

Miss  Ophelia,  in  a  few  days,  thoroughly  reformed  every 
department  of  the  house;  but  her  labors  in  all  depart- 
ments that  depended  on  the  co-operation  of  servants  were 
herculean. 

As  Miss  Ophelia  was  in  the  kitchen  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  afternoon,  some  of  the  sable  children  called  out, 
<rLa,  sakes !  thar's  Prue  a  coming,  grunting  along  like  she 
allers  does." 

A  tall,  bony  colored  woman  now  entered  the  kitchen, 
bearing  on  her  head  a  basket  of  rusks  and  hot  rolls. 

"Ho,  Prue!  you've  come,"  said  Dinah. 

Prue  set  down  her  basket,  squatted  herself  down,  and 
resting  her  elbows  on  her  knees  said, 

"0  Lord!   I  wish't  I's  dead!" 

"Why  do  your  wish  you  were  dead?''  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"I'd  be  out  o'  my  misery,"  said  the  woman,  gruffly. 

"What  need  you  getting  drunk,  then,  and  cutting  up, 
Prue  ?"  said  a  spruce  quadroon  chambermaid. 

"Maybe  you'll  come  to  it,  one  of  these  yer  days.  I'd  b« 
£rlad  to  see  you,  I  would ;  then  you'll  be  glad  of  a  drop,  like 
me,  to  forget  your  misery. " 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  147 

"Come,  Prue,"  said  Dinah,  "let's  look  at  your  rusks. 
Here's  Missis  will  pay  for  them." 

Miss  Ophelia  took  out  a  couple  of  dozen. 

"They  counts  my  money,  when  I  gets  home,  to  see  if  Fse 
got  the  change;  and  if  I  han't,  they  half  kills  me." 

"And  serves  you  right,"  said  the  pert  chambermaid,  "if 
you  will  take  their  money  to  get  drunk  on." 

"You  are  very  wicked  and  very  foolish,"  said  Miss  Ophe- 


"I  wish't  I's  dead!" 

lia,  "to  steal  your  master's  money  to  make  yourself  a  brute 
with." 

"It's  mighty  likely,  Missis;  but  I  will  do  it, — yes,  1 
will.  0  Lord!  I  wish  I's  dead,  I  do, — I  wish  I's  dead, 
and  out  of  my  misery !"  and  slowly  and  stiffly  the  old  crea- 
ture rose,  and  got  her  basket  on  her  head  again. 

"I  wish,"  said  Tom,  looking  at  her  earnestly, — "I  wish 
I  could  persuade  you  to  leave  off  drinking.  Don't  you 
know  it  will  be  the  ruin  of  ye,  body  and  soul  ?" 


148  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  knows  I'm  gwine  to  torment,"  said  the  woman,  sul- 
lenly. "Ye  don't  need  to  tell  me  that  ar.  I's  ugly, — I's 
wicked — I's  gwine  straight  to  torment.  0,  Lord!  I  wish 
I'sthar!" 

"0,  ye  poor  crittur!"  said  Tom,  "han't  nobody  never 
telled  ye  how  the  Lord  Jesus  loved  ye,  and  died  for  ye? 
Han't  they  telled  ye  that  He'll  help  ye,  and  ye  can  go  to 
heaven,  and  have  rest,  at  last?" 

"I  looks  like  gwine  to  heaven,"  said  the  woman;  "an't 
thar  where  white  folks  is  gwine?  S'pose  they'd  have  me 
thar  ?  I'd  rather  go  to  torment,  and  get  away  from  Mas'r 
and  Missis.  I  had  so,"  she  said,  as,  with  her  usual  groan, 
she  got  her  basket  on  her  head,  and  walked  sullenly  away. 

Tom  turned,  and  walked  sorrowfully  back  to  the  house. 
In  the  court  he  met  little  Eva, — a  crown  of  tuberoses  on 
her  head,  and  her  eyes  radiant  with  delight. 

*0,  Tom !  here  you  are.  I'm  glad  I've  found  you.  Papa 
says  you  may  get  out  the  ponies,  and  take  me  in  my  little 
new  carriage,"  she  said,  catching  his  hand.  "But  what's 
the  matter,  Tom  ? — you  look  sober." 

"I  feel  bad,  Miss  Eva,"  said  Tom,  sorrowfully.  "But 
I'll  get  the  horses  for  you." 

"But  do  tell  me,  Tom,  what  is  the  matter.  I  saw  you 
talking  to  cross  old  Prue." 

Tom,  in  simple,  earnest  phrase,  told  Eva  the  woman's 
history.  She  did  not  exclaim,  or  wonder,  or  weep,  as  other 
children  do.  Her  cheeks  grew  pale,  and  a  deep,  earnest 
shadow  passed  over  her  eyes.  She  laid  both  hands  on  her 
bosom,  and  sighed  heavily. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  149 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
MISS  OPHELIA'S  EXPERIENCES  AND  OPINIONS.,  CONTINUED. 

TOM,  you  needn't  get  me  the  horses.    I  don't  want  to 
go,"  she  said. 

"Why  not,  Miss  Eva?" 

"These  things  sink  into  my  heart,  Tom,"  said  Eva, — 
"they  sink  into  my  heart,"  she  repeated,  earnestly.  "I 
don't  want  to  go;"  and  she  turned  from  Tom,  and  went 
into  the  house. 

A  few  days  after,  another  woman  came,  in  old  Prue's 
place,  to  bring  the  rusks ;  Miss  Ophelia  was  in  the  kitchen. 

"Lor!"  said  Dinah,  "what's  got  Prue?" 

"Prue  isn't  coming  any  more,"  said  the  woman,  myster- 
iously. 

"Why  not?"  said  Dinah.    "She  an't  dead,  is  she?" 

"We  doesn't  exactly  know.  She's  down  cellar,"  said 
the  woman,  glancing  at  Miss  Ophelia. 

After  Miss  Ophelia  had  taken  the  rusks,  Dinah  followed 
the  woman  to  the  door. 

"What  has  got  Prue,  anyhow?"  she  said. 

The  woman  seemed  desirious,  yet  reluctant,  to  speak, 
and  answered,  in  a  low,  mysterious  tone. 

"Well,  you  mustn't  tell  nobody.  Prue,  she  got  drunk 
agin, — and  they  had  her  down  cellar, — and  thar  they  left 


150  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

her  all  day, — and  I  hearn  'em  saying  that  the  flies  had  got 
to  her, — and  she's  dead!" 

Dinah  held  up  her  hands,  and,  turning,  saw  close  by  her 
side  the  spirit-like  form  of  Evangeline,  her  large  mystic 
eyes  dilated  with  horror,  and  every  drop  of  blood  driven 
from  her  lips  and  cheeks. 

"Lor  bless  us!  Miss  Eva's  gwine  to  faint  away  1  What 
got  us  all,  to  let  her  har  such  talk  ?  Her  pa  '11  be  rail 
mad." 

"I  shan't  faint,  Dinah,"  said  the  child,  firmly;  "and 
why  shouldn't  I  hear  it  ?  It  an't  so  much  for  me  to  hear 
it,  as  for  poor  Prue  to  suffer  it." 

"Lor  sakes !  it  isn't  for  sweet,  delicate  young  ladies,  like 
you, — these  yer  stories  isn't ;  it's  enough  to  kill  'em !" 

Eva  sighed  again,  and  walked  upstairs  with  a  slow  and 
melancholy  step. 

Miss  Ophelia  anxiously  inquired  the  woman's  story. 
Dinah  gave  a  very  garrulous  version  of  it,  to  which  Tom 
added  the  particulars  which  he  had  drawn  from  her  that 
morning. 

"An  abominable  business, — perfectly  horrible!"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  she  entered  the  room  where  St.  Clare  lay  read- 
ing his  paper. 

"Pray,  what  iniquity  has  turned  up  now  ?"  said  he. 

"What  now?  why,  those  folks  have  whipped  Prue  to 
death!"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  going  on,  with  great  strength 
of  detail,  into  the  story,  and  enlarging  on  its  most  shock- 
ing particulars. 

"I  thought  it  would  come  to  that,  some  time,"  said  St. 
Clare,  going  on  with  his  paper. 

"Thought  so ! — an't  you  going  to  do  anything  about  it  ?" 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  151 

said  Miss  Ophelia.  "Haven't  you  got  any  selectmen,  or 
anybody,  to  interfere  and  look  after  such  matters?" 

"It's  commonly  supposed  that  the  property  interest  is 
a  sufficient  guard  in  these  cases.  If  people  choose  to  ruin 
their  own  possessions,  I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done.  It 
seems  the  poor  creature  was  a  thief  and  a  drunkard;  and 
so  there  won't  be  much  hope  to  get  up  sympathy  for  her." 

"It  is  perfectly  outrageous, — it  is  horrid,  Augustine !  It 
will  certainly  bring  down  vengeance  upon  you.  What  do 
you  think  will  be  the  end  of  this  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"I  don't  know.  One  thing  is  certain, — that  there  is  a 
mustering  among  the  masses,  the  world  over;  and  there  is 
a  dies  ir&  coming  on,  sooner  or  later.  The  same  thing 
ia  working  in  Europe,  in  England,  and  in  this  country. 
My  mother  used  to  tell  me  of  a  millennium  that  was  com- 
ing, when  Christ  should  reign,  and  all  men  should  be  free 
and  happy.  And  she  taught  me,  when  I  was  a  boy,  to 
pray,  'Thy  kingdom  come/  Sometimes  I  think  all  this 
signing,  and  groaning,  and  stirring  among  the  dry  bones 
foretells  what  she  used  to  tell  me  was  coming.  But  who 
may  abide  the  day  of  His  appearing?" 

"Augustine,  sometimes  I  think  you  are  not  far  from  the 
kingdom,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  laying  down  her  knitting, 
and  looking  anxiously  at  her  cousin. 

"Thank  you  for  your  good  opinion ;  but  it's  up  and  down 
with  me, — up  to  heaven's  gate  in  theory,  down  in  earth's 
dust  in  practice.  But  there's  the  tea-bell, — do  let's  go, — 
and  don't  say,  now,  I  haven't  had  one  downright  serious 
talk,  for  once  in  my  life." 

Our  humble  friend  Tom  had  a  decent  room,  contain- 


152  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

ing  a  bed,  a  chair,  and  a  small,  rough  stand,  where  lay 
his  Bible  and  hymn-book;  and  there  he  sat  with  his  slate 
before  him,  intent  on  something  that  seemed  to  cost  him 
a  great  deal  of  anxious  thought.  The  fact  was,  Tom's 
home  yearnings  had  become  so  strong,  that  he  had  beg- 
ged a  sheet  of  writing-paper  of  Eva,  and,  mustering  up 
all  his  small  stock  of  literary  attainment  acquired  by  Mas'r 
George's  instructions,  he  conceived  the  bold  idea  of  writ- 
ing a  letter;  and  he  was  busy  now,  on  his  slate,  getting 
out  his  first  draft.  Tom  was  in  a  good  deal  of  trouble, 
for  the  forms  of  some  of  the  letters  he  had  forgotten  en- 
tirely; and  of  what  he  did  remember,  he  did  not  know 
exactly  which  to  use.  And  while  he  was  working,  and 
breathing  very  hard,  in  his  earnestness,  Eva  alighted,  like 
a  bird,  on  the  round  of  his  chair  behind  him,  and  peeped 
over  his  shoulder. 

"0,  Uncle  Tom!  what  funny  things  you  are  making, 
there?" 

"I'm  trying  to  write  to  my  poor  old  woman,  Miss  Eva, 
and  my  little  chil'en,"  said  Tom,  drawing  the  back  of  his 
hand  over  his  eyes;  "but,  somehow,  I'm  feard  I  shan't 
make  it  out." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you,  Tom!  I've  learnt  to  write 
some.  Last  year  I  could  make  all  the  letters,  but  I'm 
afraid  I've  forgotten." 

So  Eva  put  her  little  golden  head  close  to  his,  and,  with 
a  deal  of  consulting  and  advising  over  every  word,  the 
composition  began,  as  they  both  felt  very  sanguine,  to  look 
quite  like  writing. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Tom,  it  really  begins  to  look  beautiful," 
said  Eva,  gazing  delightedly  on  it.  "How  pleased  your 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


153 


wife'll  be,  and  the  poor  little  children!  0,  it's  a  shame 
you  ever  had  to  go  away  from  them !  I  mean  to  ask  papa 
to  let  you  go  back,  some  time/' 

"Missis  said  that  she  would  send  down  money  for  me, 
as  soon  as  they  could  get  it  together,"  said  Tom.    "I'm 


"What  funny  things  you  are  making." 

'spectin'  she  will.  Young  Mas'r  George,  he  said  he'd  come 
for  me;  and  he  gave  me  this  yer  dollar  as  a  sign;"  and 
Tom  drew  from  under  his  clothes  the  precious  dollar. 

"0,  he'll  certainly   come,   then!"   said   Eva.    "I'm  so 
glad!" 


154  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"And  I  wanted  to  send  a  letter,  you  know,  to  let  'em 
know  whar  I  was,  and  tell  poor  Chloe  that  I  was  well  off, — 
cause  she  felt  so  drefTul,  poor  soul!" 

"I  say,  Tom !"  said  St.  Clare,  coming  in  the  door  at  this 
moment. 

Tom  and  Eva  hoth  started. 

"What's  here?"  said  St.  Clare,  coming  up  and  looking 
at  the  slate. 

"0,  it's  Tom's  letter.  I'm  helping  him  to  write  it,"  said 
Eva;  "isn't  it  nice?" 

"I  wouldn't  discourage  either  of  you,"  said  St.  Clare, 
"but  I  rather  think,  Tom,  you'd  better  get  me  to  write 
your  letter  for  you.  I'll  do  it,  when  I  come  home  from 
my  ride." 

"It's  very  important  he  should  write,"  said  Eva,  "be- 
cause his  mistress  is  going  to  send  down  money  to  re- 
deem him,  you  know,  papa ;  he  told  me  they  told  him  so." 

St.  Clare  thought,  in  his  heart,  that  this  was  probably 
only  one  of  those  things  which  good-natured  owners  say 
to  their  servants,  to  alleviate  their  horror  of  being  sold, 
without  any  intention  of  fulfilling  the  expectation  thus 
excited.  But  he  did  not  make  any  audible  comment  upon 
it, — only  ordered  Tom  to  get  the  horses  out  for  a  ride. 

The  letter,  however,  was  written  in  due  form  for  him 
that  evening,  and  safely  lodged  in  the  post-office. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  155 


CHAPTER  XX. 

TOPSY. 

ONE  morning,  while  Miss  Ophelia  was  busy  in  some 
of  her  domestic  cares,  St.  Clare's  voice  was  heard, 
calling  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Come  down  here,  Cousin ;  I've  something  to  show  you." 

"What  is  it?"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  coming  down,  with  her 
sewing  in  her  hand. 

"I've  made  a  purchase  for  your  department, — see  here," 
said  St.  Ctere;  and,  with  the  word,  he  pulled  along  a  little 
negro  girl,  ahout  eight  or  nine  years  of  age. 

She  was  one  of  the  blackest  of  her  race;  and  her  round, 
shining  eyes,  glittering  as  glass  beads,  moved  with  quick 
and  restless  glances  over  everything  in  the  room.  Her 
mouth,  half  open  with  astonishment  at  the  wonders  of  the 
new  Mas'r's  parlor,  displayed  a  white  and  brilliant  set  of 
teeth.  Her  woolly  hair  was  braided  in  sundry  little  tails, 
which  stuck  out  in  every  direction.  The  expression  of  her 
face  was  an  odd  mixture  of  shrewdness  and  cunning,  over 
which  was  oddly  drawn,  like  a  kind  of  veil,  an  expression 
of  the  most  doleful  gravity  and  solemnity.  She  was  dressed 
in  a  single  filthy,  ragged  garment,  made  of  bagging;  and 
stood  with  her  hands  demurely  folded  before  her.  Alto- 
gether, there  was  something  so  odd  and  goblin-like  about 


156 


Ilncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


her  appearance  as  to  inspire  that  good  lady  with  utter  dis- 
may; and  turning  to  St 
Clare,  she  said, 

"Augustine,  what  in  the 
world  have  you  brought 
that  thing  here  for  ?" 

"For  you  to  educate,  to 
be  sure,  and  train  in  the 
way  she  should  go.  Here, 
Topsy,"  he  added,  give  us 
a  song,  now,  and  show  us 
some  of  your  dancing." 

The  black  glassy  eyes 
glittered  with  a  kind  of 
wicked  drollery,  and  the 
thing  struck  up,  in  a  clear 
shrill  voice,  an  odd  negro 
melody,  to  which  she  kept 
time  with  her  hands  and 
feet,  spinning  round,  clap- 
ping her  hands,  knocking 
her  knees  together,  in  a 
wild,  fantastic  sort  of 
time,  and  producing  in  her 
throat  all  those  odd  gut- 
tural sounds  which  distin- 
guish the  native  music  of 
her  race;  and  finally,  turn- 


and 
unearthly 


Topsy. 
giving    a    prolonged 


as    that    of 


ing  a  summerset  or  two, 
closing    note,    as    odd    and 
a    steam    whistle,    she    came 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  157 

suddenly  down  on  the  carpet,  and  stood  with  her 
hands  folded,  and  a  most  sanctimonious  expression  of 
meekness  and  solemnity  over  her  face,  only  broken  hy  the 
cunning  glances  which  she  shot  askance  from  the  corners 
of  her  eyes.  Miss  Ophelia  stood  silent,  perfectly  para- 
lyzed with  amazement.  St.  Clare,  like  a  mischievous  fel- 
low as  he  was,  appeared  to  enjoy  her  astonishment;  and, 
addressing  the  child  again,  said, 

"Topsy,  this  is  your  new  mistress.  I'm  going  to  give 
you  up  to  her;  see  now  that  you  behave  yourself." 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Topsy,  with  sanctimonious  gravity, 
her  wicked  eyes  twinkling  as  she  spoke. 

"You're  going  to  be  good,  Topsy,  you  understand,"  said 
St.  Clare. 

"0  yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Topsy,  with  another  twinMe,  her 
hands  still  devoutly  folded. 

"Now,  Augustine,  what  upon  earth  is  this  for?"  said 
Miss  Ophelia. 

"For  you  to  educate — didn't  I  tell  you  ?  You're  always 
preaching  about  educating." 

"I  don't  want  her,  I  am  sure; — I  have  more  to  do  with 
'em  now  than  I  want  to." 

"That's  you  Christians,  all  over! — you'll  get  up  a  so- 
ciety, and  get  some  poor  missionary  to  spend  all  his  days 
1  among  just  such  heathen.  But  let  me  see  one  of  you  that 
would  take  one  into  your  house  with  you,  and  take  the 
labor  of  their  conversion  on  yourselves!  No;  when  it 
comes  to  that,  they  are  dirty  and  disagreeable,  and  it's 
too  much  care,  and  so  on." 

"Augustine,  you  know  I  didn't  think  of  it  in  that  light," 
said  Miss  Ophelia.  "Well,  it  might  be  a  real  missionary 


158  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

work,"  said  she,  looking  rather  more  favorably  on  the 
child. 

St.  Clare  had  touched  the  right  string.  Miss  Ophelia's 
conscientiousness  was  ever  on  the  alert.  "But,"  she  add- 
ed, "I  really  didn't  see  the  need  of  buying  this  one; — 
there  are  enough  now,  in  your  house,  to  take  all  my  time 
and  skill." 

"Well,  then,  Cousin/'  said  St.  Clare,  drawing  her  aside, 
"I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon  for  my  good-for-nothing 
speeches.  You  are  so  good,  after  all,  that  there's  no  sense 
in  them.  Why,  the  fact  is,  this  concern  belonged  to  a 
couple  of  drunken  creatures  that  keep  a  low  restaurant 
that  I  have  to  pass  by  every  day,  and  I  was  tired  of  hearing 
her  screaming,  and  them  beating  and  swearing  at  her.  She 
looked  bright  and  funny,  too,  as  if  something  might  be 
made  of  her; — so  I  bought  her,  and  I'll  give  her  to  you." 

"Well,  I'll  do  what  I  can,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

Sitting  down  before  her,  she  began  to  question  her. 

"How  old  are  you,  Topsy?" 

"Dun  no,  Missis/'  said  the  image. 

"Don't  know  how  old  you  are?  Didn't  anybody  ever 
tell  you  ?  Who  was  your  mother  ?" 

"Never  had  none!"  said  the  child. 

"Never  had  any  mother  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  Where 
were  you  born?" 

"Never  was  born !"  persisted  Topsy,  with  another  goblin- 
like  grin. 

"You  mustn't  answer  me  in  that  way,  child.  Tell  me 
where  you  were  born,  and  who  your  father  and  mother 
were." 

"Never  was  born,"  reiterated  the  creature,  more  em- 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  159 

phatically;  "never  had  no  father  nor  mother,  nor  nothin'. 
I  was  raised  by  a  speculator,  with  lots  of  others.  Old 
Aunt  Sue  used  to  take  car  on  us." 

"Laws,  Missis,  there's  hea.ps  of  'em/'  said  Jane,  breaking 
in.  "Speculators  buys  'em  up  cheap,  when  they's  little, 
and  gets  'em  raised  for  market." 

"How  long  have  you  lived  with  your  master  and  mis- 
tress?" 

"Dun  no,  Missis." 

"Is  it  a  year,  or  more,  or  less?" 

"Dun  no,  Missis." 

"Laws,  Missis,  those  low  negroes, — they  can't  tell;  they 
don't  know  anything  about  time,"  said  Jane;  "they  don't 
know  what  a  year  is ;  they  don't  know  their  own  ages." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  anything  about  God,  Topsy?" 

The  child  looked  bewildered,  but  grinned  as  usual. 

"Do  you  know  who  made  you  ?" 

"Nobody,  as  I  knows  on,"  said  the  child,  with  a  short 
laugh.  "Ispectlgrow'd.  Don't  think  nobody  never  made  me." 

"Do  you  know  how  to  sew  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"No,  Missis." 

"What  can  you  do? — what  did  you  do  for  your  master 
and  mistress?" 

"Fetch  water,  and  wash  dishes,  and  rub  knives,  and 
wait  on  folks." 

"Were  they  good  to  you?" 

"Spect  they  was,"  said  the  child,  scanning  Miss  Ophelia 
cunningly. 

Miss  Ophelia  began  with  Topsy  by  taking  her  into  her 
chamber,  the  first  morning,  and  solemnly  commencing  a 

11— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


160  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

course  of  instruction  in  the  art  and  mystery  of  bed-mak- 
ing. Topsy,  washed  and  shorn  of  all  the  little  braided 
tails  wherein  her  heart  had  delighted,  arrayed  in  a  clean 
gown,  with  well-starched  apron  stood  reverently  before 
Miss  Ophelia,  with  an  expression  of  solemnity  well  befit- 
ting a  funeral. 

"Now,  Topsy,  I'm  going  to  show  you  just  how  my  bed 
is  to  be  made.  I  am  very  particular  about  my  bed.  You 
must  learn  exactly  how  to  do  it." 

"Yes,  ma'am/'  says  Topsy,  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  a  face 
of  woful  earnestness. 

"Now,  Topsy,  look  here; — this  is  the  hem  of  the  sheet, 
— this  is  the  right  side  of  the  sheet,  and  this  is  the  wrong; 
— will  you  remember  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  says  Topsy,  with  another  sigh ;  but  when 
the  good  lady's  back  was  turned,  the  young  disciple  snatch- 
ed a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  ribbon  and  adroitly  slipped  them 
into  her  sleeves. 

"Now,  Topsy,  let's  see  you  do  this,"  said  Miss  Ophelia, 
pulling  off  the  clothes,  and  seating  herself. 

Topsy,  with  great  gravity  and  adroitness,  went  through 
the  exercise  completely  to  Miss  Ophelia's  satisfaction,  but 
by  an  unlucky  slip,  however,  a  fragment  of  the  ribbon 
hung  out  of  one  of  her  sleeves,  just  as  she  was  finishing, 
and  caught  Miss  Ophelia's  attention.  Instantly  she 
pounced  upon  it.  "What's  this?  You  naughty,  wicked 
child, — you've  been  stealing  this !" 

Topsy  was  not  in  the  least  disconcerted.  "Laws!  why, 
that  ar's  Miss  Feel/s  ribbon,  an't  it?  How  could  it  a 
got  caught  in  my  sleeve?" 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  161 

"Topsy,  you  naughty  girl,  don't  you  tell  me  a  lie,, — you 
stole  that  ribbon!" 

'"Missis,  I  declar  for  't,  I  didn't; — never  seed  it  till  dis 
yer  blessed  minnit." 

"Topsy,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "don't  you  know  it's  wicked 
to  tell  lies?" 

"I  never  tells  no  lies,  Miss  Feely,"  said  Topsy,  with 
virtuous  gravity;  "it's  jist  the  truth  I've  been  a  tellin'  now, 
and  an't  nothin*  else." 

"Topsy,  I  shall  have  to  whip  you,  if  you  tell  lies  so." 

"Laws,  Missis,  if  yoii's  to  whip  all  day,  couldn't  say  no 
other  way,"  said  Topsy,  beginning  to  blubber.  "I  never 
seed  that  ar, — it  must  a  got  caught  in  my  sleeve.  Miss 
Feely  must  have  left  it  on  the  bed,  and  it  got  caught  in 
the  clothes,  and  so  got  in  my  sleeve." 

Miss  Ophelia  was  so  indignant  at  the  barefaced  lie,  that 
she  caught  the  child  and  shook  her. 

"Don't  you  tell  me  that  again !" 

The  shake  brought  the  gloves  on  to  the  floor,  from  the 
other  sleeve. 

"There  you!"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "will  you  tell  me  now, 
you  didn't  steal  the  ribbon?" 

Topsy  now  confessed  to  the  gloves,  but  still  persisted 
in  denying  the  ribbon. 

"Now,  Topsy,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "if  you'll  confess  all 
about  it,  I  won't  whip  you  this  time."  Thus  adjured, 
Topsy  confessed  to  the  ribbon  and  gloves,  with  woful  pro- 
testations of  penitence. 

"Well,  now,  tell  me.  I  know  you  must  have  taken  other 
things  since  you  have  been  in  the  house,  for  I  let  you  run 


162  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

about  all  day  yesterday.  Now,  tell  me  if  you  took  any- 
thing, and  I  shan't  whip  you." 

"Laws,  Missis !  I  took  Miss  Eva's  red  thing  she  wars  on 
her  neck/' 

"You  did,  you  naughty  child!— Well,  what  else?" 

"I  took  Rosa's  yer-rings, — them  red  ones." 

"Go  bring  them  to  me  this  minute,  both  of  'em." 

"Laws,  Missis !    I  can't. — they's  burnt  up !" 

"Burnt  up! — what  a  story!  Go  get  'em,  or  I'll  whip 
you." 

Topsy,  with  loud  protestations,  and  tears,  and  groans, 
declared  that  she  could  not.  "They's  burnt  up, — they 
was." 

"What  did  you  burn  'em  up  for?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"Cause  I's  wicked, — I  is.  I's  mighty  wicked,  any  how. 
I  can't  help  it." 

Just  at  this  moment,  Eva  came  innocently  into  the 
room,  with  the  identical  coral  necklace  on  her  neck. 

"Why,  Eva,  where  did  you  get  your  necklace  ?"  said  Miss 
Ophelia. 

"Get  it?    Why,  I've  had  it  on  all  day,"  said  Eva. 

"Did  you  have  it  on  yesterday?" 

"Yes ;  and  what  is  funny,  Aunty,  I  had  it  on  all  night. 
I  forgot  to  take  it  off  when  I  went  to  bed." 

Miss  Ophelia  looked  perfectly  bewildered;  the  more  so, 
as  Rosa,  at  that  instant,  came  into  the  room,  with  the 
coral  ear-drops  shaking  in  her  ears! 

"I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  anything  what  to  do  with  such  a 
child !"  she  said,  in  despair.  "What  in  the  world  did  you 
tell  me  you  took  those  things  for,  Topsy?" 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


163 


"Why,.  Missis  said  I  must  'fess;  and  I  couldn't  think  of 
nothin'  else  to  'fess,"  said  Topsy,  rubbing  her  eyes. 

"But,  of  course,  I  didn't  want  you  to  confess  things  you 


"Poor  Topsy,  why  need  you  steal?" 

didn't  do,"  said  Miss  Ophelia;  "that's  telling  a  lie,  just  as 
much  as  the  other." 

"Laws,  now,  is  it  ?"  said  Topsy,  with  an  air  of  innocent 
wonder. 

"La,  there  an't  any  such  thing  as  truth  in  that  limb," 


164  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

said  Rosa,  looking  indignantly  at  Topsy.  "If  I  was  Mas'* 
St.  Clare,  I'd  whip  her  till  the  blood  run.  I  would, — I'd 
let  her  catch  it!" 

"No,  no,  Rosa/'  said  Eva,  with  an  air  of  command, 
which  the  child  could  assume  at  times;  "you  mustn't  talk 
so,  Rosa.  I  can't  bear  to  hear  it." 

"La  sakes!  Miss  Eva,  you'se  so  good,  you  don't  know 
nothing  how  to  get  along  with  niggers.  There's  no  way 
but  to  cut  'em  well  up,  I'll  tell  ye." 

"Rosa!"  said  Eva,  "hush!  Don't  you  say  another  word 
of  that  sort!"  and  the  eye  of  the  child  flashed,  and  her 
cheek  deepened  its  color. 

Rosa  was  cowed  in  a  moment,  and  passed  out  of  the 
room. 

Eva  stood  looking  at  Topsy  perplexed  and  sorrowful, 
but  she  said  sweetly: 

"Poor  Topsy,  why  need  you  steal  ?  You're  going  to  be 
taken  good  care  of,  now.  I'm  sure  I'd  rather  give  you  any- 
thing of  mine,  than  have  you  steal  it." 

It  was  the  first  word  of  kindness  the  child  had  ever 
heard  in  her  life;  and  the  sweet  tone  and  manner  struck 
strangely  on  the  wild,  rude  heart,  and  a  sparkle  of  some- 
thing like  a  tear  shone  in  the  keen,  round,  glittering  eye; 
but  it  was  followed  by  the  short  laugh  and  habitual  grin. 

But  what  was  to  be  done  with  Topsy?  Miss  Ophelia 
found  the  case  a  puzzler,  and  so  shut  Topsy  up  in  a  dark 
closet  till  she  had  arranged  her  ideas  further  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Miss  Ophelia  to  St.  Clare,  "how  I'm 
going  to  manage  that  child  without  whipping  her." 

"0,  well,  certainly,"  said  St.  Clare;  "do  as  you  think 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  165 

best.  Only  111  make  one  suggestion:  I've  seen  this  child 
whipped  with  a  poker,  knocked  down  with  the  shovel  or 
tongs,  or  whichever  came  handiest,  and,  seeing  that  she  is 
used  to  that  style  of  operation,  I  think  your  whippings 
will  have  to  be  pretty  energetic,  to  make  much  impres- 
sion." 

<CI  can  only  persevere  and  try,  and  do  the  best  I  can/' 
said  Miss  Ophelia;  after  this,  she  did  labor  with  zeal  and 
energy,  on  her  new  subject.  She  instituted  regular  hours 
and  employments  for  her,  and  undertook  to  teach  her  to 
read  and  to  sew. 

In  the  former  art,  the  child  was  quick  enough.  She 
learned  her  letters  as  if  by  magic,  and  was  very  soon  able 
to  read  plain  reading;  but  the  sewing  was  a  more  difficult 
matter.  The  creature  was  as  lithe  as  a  cat,  and  as  active 
as  a  monkey,  and  the  confinement  of  sewing  was  her 
abomination;  so  she  broke  her  needles,  threw  them  slyly 
out  of  windows,  or  down  in  chinks  of  the  walls;  she 
tangled,  broke,  and  dirtied  her  thread,  or,  with  a  sly  move- 
ment, would  throw  a  spool  away  altogether. 

Topsy  was  soon  a  noted  character  in  the  establishment. 
In  her  play  hours,  she  invariably  had  every  child  in  the 
establishment  at  her  heels,  open-mouthed  with  admiration 
and  wonder, — not  excepting  Miss  Eva,  who  appeared  to 
be  fascinated  by  her,  as  a  dove  is  sometimes  charmed  by 
a  serpent.  Miss  Ophelia  was  uneasy  that  Eva  should  fancy 
Topsy's  society  so  much,  and  implored  St.  Clare  to  for- 
bid it. 

"Poh!  let  the  child  alone,"  said  St.  Clare.  "Topsy  will 
do  her  good." 


166 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


<rBut  so  depraved  a  child, — are  you  not  afraid  she  will 
teach  her  some  mischief?" 

"She  can't  teach  her  mischief;  she  might  teach  it  to 
some  children,  but  evil  rolls  off  Eva's  mind  like  dew  off  a 
cabbage-leaf, — not  a  drop  sinks  in." 

Topsy  was  smart  and  energetic  in  all  manual  operations, 
learning  everything  that  was  taught  her  with  surprising 
quickness.  Mortal  hands  could  not  lay  spread  smoother, 

adjust  pillows  more  accu- 
rately, sweep  and  dust  and 
arrange  more  perfectly, 
than  Topsy,  when  she 
chose — but  she  didn't  very 
often  choose.  When  left 
to  herself,  instead  of  mak- 
ing the  bed,  she  would 
amuse  herself  with  pulling 
off  the  pillow-cases,  but- 
ting her  woolly  head 
among  the  pillows,  till  it 
would  sometimes  be  gro- 
tesquely ornamented  with 
feathers  sticking  out  in 
various  directions;  she  would  climb  the  posts,  and  hang 
head  downward  from  the  tops;  nourish  the  sheets  and 
spreads  all  over  the  apartment;  dress  the  bolster  up  in 
Miss  Ophelia's  night  clothes,  singing  and  whistling, 
and  making  grimaces  at  herself  in  the  looking-glass;  in 
short,  as  Miss  Ophelia  phrased  it,  "raising  Cain" 
generally. 

On  one  occasion,  Miss  Ophelia  found  Topsy  with  her 


"Raising  Cain." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  167 

very  best  scarlet  India  Canton  crape  shawl  wound  round 
her  head  for  a  turban,  going  on  with  her  rehearsals  before 
the  glass  in  great  style, — Miss  Ophelia  having,  with  care- 
lessness most  unheard-of  in  her,  left  the  key  for  once  in 
her  drawer. 

"Topsy !"  she  would  sa}r,  when  at  the  end  of  all  patience, 
"what  does  make  you  act  so  ?" 

"Dunno,  Missis, — I  spects  cause  I's  so  wicked!" 

"I  don't  know  anything  what  I  shall  do  with  you, 
Topsy." 

"Law,  Missis,  you  must  whip  me;  my  old  Missis  allers 
whipped  me.  I  an't  used  to  workin'  unless  I  gets  whip- 
ped." 

"Why,  Topsy,  I  don't  want  to  whip  you.  You  can  do 
well,  if  you've  a  mind  to;  what  is  the  reason  you  won't?" 

"Laws,  Missis,  I's  used  to  whippin';  I  spects  it's  good 
for  me." 

Miss  Ophelia  tried  the  recipe,  and  Topsy  invariably 
made  a  terrible  commotion,  screaming,  groaning  and  im- 
ploring, though  half  an  hour  afterwards,  when  roosted  on 
some  projection  of  the  balcony,  and  surrounded  by  a  flock 
of  admiring  "young  uns,"  she  would  express  the  utmost 
contempt  of  the  whole  affair. 

"Law,  Miss  Feely  whip! — would  n't  kill  a  skeeter,  her 
whippins.  Oughter  see  how  old  Mas'r  made  the  flesh  fly; 
old  Mas'r  know'd  how !" 

Topsy  always  made  great  capital  of  her  own  sins  and 
enormities,  evidently  considering  them  as  something  pecu- 
liarly distinguishing. 

"Law,  you  niggers,"  she  would  say  to  some  of  her  audi- 
tors, "does  you  know  you  's  all  sinners?  Well,  you  is — • 


168  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

everybody  is.  White  folks  is  sinners  too, — Miss  Feely  sayj 
BO;  but  I  Aspects  niggers  is  the  biggest  ones;  Vjut  lor!  ye 
an't  any  on  ye  up  to  me.  I 's  so  awful  wicked  there  can't 
nobody  do  nothin'  with  me.  I  used  to  keep  old  Missis  a 
swarin'  at  me  half  de  time.  I  'spects  I  's  the  wickedest 
critter  in  the  world;"  and  Topsy  would  cut  a  summerset, 
and  come  up  brisk  and  shining  on  to  a  higher  perch,  and 
evidently  plume  herself  on  the  distinction. 

St.  Clare  took  the  same  kind  of  amusement  in  the  child 
that  a  man  might  take  in  the  tricks  of  a  parrot  or  a 
pointer.  Topsy,  whenever  her  sins  brought  her  into  dis- 
grace in  other  quarters,  always  took  refuge  behind  his 
chair;  and  St.  Clare,  in  one  way  or  other,  would  make 
peace  for  her.  From  him  she  got  many  a  stray  coin,  which 
she  laid  out  in  nuts  and  candies,  and  distributed,  with 
careless  generosity,  to  all  the  children  in  the  family;  for 
Topsy,  to  do  her  justice,  was  good-natured  and  liberal,  and 
only  spiteful  in  self-defence. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  169 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

KENTUCK. 

LET  us  glance  back,  for  a  brief  interval,  at  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,  on  the  Kentucky  farm,  and  see  what 
has  been  transpiring  among  those  whom  he  left 
behind. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby  to  her  husband,  "that 
Chloe  has  had  a  letter  from  Tom?" 

"Ah !  has  she  ?  Tom  's  got  some  friend  there,  it  seems. 
How  is  the  old  boy?" 

"He  has  been  bought  by  a  very  fine  family,  I  should 
think,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby, — "is  kindly  treated,  and  has  not 
much  to  do." 

"Ah!  well,  I  'm  glad  of  it,— very  glad,"  said  Mr.  Shelby, 
heartily.  "Tom,  I  suppose,  will  get  reconciled  to  a  South- 
ern residence ; — hardly  want  to  come  up  here  again." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  inquires  very  anxiously,"  said  Mrs. 
Shelby,  "when  the  money  for  his  redemption  is  to  be 
raised." 

"I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Shelby.  "I  can't  tell 
exactly — I  know  somewhere  about  what  things  are  likely 
to  be;  but  there  's  no  trimming  and  squaring  my  affairs, 
as  Chloe  trims  crust  off  her  pies." 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  in  some  way  contrive  to  raise 


170  TTncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

that  money  ?    Poor  Aunt  Chloe !    her  heart  is  so  set  on  it !" 

"I  'm  sorry,  if  it  is.  I  think  I  was  premature  in  promis- 
ing. I  'm  not  sure,  now,  but  it  's  the  best  way  to  tell 
Chloe,  and  let  her  make  up  her  mind  to  it.  Tom  '11  have 
another  wife,  in  a  year  or  two;  and  she  had  better  take  up 
with  somebody  else." 

"Mr.  Shelby,  I  have  taught  my  people  that  their  mar- 
riages are  as  sacred  as  ours.  I  never  could  think  of  giving 
Chloe  such  advice." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Aunt  CLloe  herself. 

"If  you  please,  Missis,"  said  she. 

"Well,  Chloe,  what  is  it?"  said  her  mistress. 

"Laws  me,  Missis!  what  should  Mas'r  and  Missis  be  a 
troublin'  theirselves  'bout  de  money,  and  not  a  usm* 
what's  right  in  der  hands?"  and  Chloe  laughed. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Chloe,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  noth- 
ing doubting,  from  her  knowledge  of  Chloe's  manner,  that 
she  had  heard  every  word  of  the  conversation  that  had 
passed  between  her  and  her  husband. 

"Why,  laws  me,  Missis!"  said  Chloe,  laughing  again, 
"other  folks  hires  out  der  niggers  and  makes  money  on 
'em !  Don't  keep  such  a  tribe  eatin'  'em  out  of  house  and 
home." 

"Well,  Chloe,  who  do  you  propose  that  we  should  hire 
out?" 

"Laws !  I  an't  a  proposin'  nothin' ;  only  Sam  he  said  der 
was  one  of  dese  yer  perfcctioners  dey  calls  'em,  in  Louis- 
ville, said  he  wanted  a  good  hand  at  cake  and  pastry;  and 
said  he  'd  give  four  dollars  a  week  to  one,  he  did." 

"Well,  Chloe." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


171 


"Well,  laws,  I  's  a  thinking  Missis,  it  ?s  time  Sally  was 
put  along  to  be  doin'  something.  Sally  's  been  under  my 
aare,  now,  dis  some  time,  and  she  does  most  as  well  as  me, 


"Well,  Chloe,  what  is  it?" 


considering  and  if  Missis  would  only  let  me  go,  I  would 
help  fetch  up  de  money.  I  an't  afraid  to  put  my  cake,  nor 
pies,  nuther,  Alongside  no  perfectioner's." 


172  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"But,  Chloe,  do  you  want  to  leave  your  children  ?" 

"Laws,  Missis !  de  boys  is  big  enough  to  do  day's  works ; 
dey  does  well  enough;  and  Sally,  she  '11  take  de  baby, — 
she  .'s  such  a  peart  young  un,  she  won't  take  no  lookin' 
arter." 

"Louisville  is  a  good  way  off/' 

"Law  sakes!  who  's  afeard? — it  's  down  river,  somer 
near  my  old  man,  perhaps  ?"  said  Chloe,  speaking  the  last 
in  the  tone  of  a  question,  and  looking  at  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"No,  Chloe;  it 's  many  a  hundred  miles  off,"  said  Mrs. 
Shelby. 

Chloe's  countenance  fell. 

"Never  mind;  your  going  there  shall  bring  you  nearer, 
Chloe.  Yes,  you  may  go;  and  your  wages  shall  every  cent 
of  them  be  laid  aside  for  your  husband's  redemption." 

Chloe's  dark  face  brightened  immediately,  really  shone. 
"Laws !  if  Missis  is  n't  too  good !  I  was  thinkin'  of  dat  ar 
very  thing;  cause  I  should  n't  need  no  clothes,  nor  shoes, 
nor  nothin', — I  could  save  every  cent.  How  many  weeks 
is  der  in  a  year,  Missis  ?" 

"Fifty-two,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"Laws!  now,  dere  is?  and  four  dollars  for  each  on  'em. 
Why,  how  much  'd  that  ar  be?" 

"Two  hundred  and  eight  dollars,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby. 

"Why-e!"  said  Chloe,  with  an  accent  of  surprise  and  de- 
light; "and  how  long  would  it  take  me  to  work  it  out, 
Missis  ?" 

"Some  four  or  five  years,  Chloe ;  but,  then,  you  need  n't 
do  it  all, — I  shall  add  something  to  it." 

"I  would  n't  hear  to  Missis'  givin'  lessons  nor  nothin'. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  173 

MasYs  quite  right  in  dat  ar! — 't  would  n't  do,  no  ways.  I 
hope  none  our  family  ever  be  brought  to  dat  ar,  while  I 's 
got  hands/' 

"Don't  fear,  Chloe;  I  '11  take  care  of  the  honor  of  the 
family,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  smiling.  "But  when  do  you 
expect  to  go?" 

"Well,  I  wan't  spectin'  nothin' ;  only  Sam,  he  's  a  gwine 
to  de  river  with  some  colts,  and  so  if  Missis  was  willin',  I  'd 
go  with  Sam  to-morrow  morning,  if  Missis  would  write  my 
pass,  and  write  me  a  commendation." 

"Well,  Chloe,  I  '11  attend  to  it,  if  Mr.  Shelby  has  no 
objections.  I  must  speak  to  him." 

Mrs.  Shelby  went  upstairs,  and  Aunt  Chloe,  delighted, 
went  out  to  her  cabin,  to  make  her  preparation. 

"Laws  sakes,  Mas'r  George!  ye  did  n't  know  I 's  a  gwine 
to  Louisville  to-morrow !"  she  said  to  George,  as,  entering 
her  cabin,  he  found  her  busy  in  sorting  over  her  baby's 
clothes.  "  I  thought  I  'd  jis  look  over  sis's  things,  and  get 
'em  straightened  up.  But  I  'm  gwine,  Mas'r  George, — 
gwine  to  have  four  dollars  a  week;  and  Missis  is  gwine  to 
lay  it  all  up,  to  buy  back  my  old  man  agin!" 

"Whew!"  said  George.    "How  are  you  going?" 

"To-morrow,  wid  Sam.  And  now,  Mas'r  George,  I  knows 
you  '11  jis  sit  down  and  write  to  my  old  man,  and  tell  him 
all  about  it,— won't  ye  ?" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  George ;  "Uncle  Tom  '11  be  right  glad 
to  hear  from  us.  I  '11  go  right  in  the  house,  for  paper  and 
ink;  and  then,  you  know,  Aunt  Chloe,  I  can  tell  about  the 
new  colts  and  all." 

"Sartin,  sartin,  Mas'r  George;  you  go  'long,  and  I  '11  get 


174  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

ye  up  a  bit  o'  chicken,  or  some  sich;  ye  won't  have  many 
more  suppers  wid  yer  poor  old  aunty/' 


CHAPTER  XXIL 
"THE  GRASS  WITHERETH — THE  FLOWER  FADETH." 

LIFE  passes,  with  us  all,  a  day  at  a  time;  so  it  passed 
with  our  friend  Tom,  till  two  years  were  gone. 

Tom  and  Eva  were  seated  on  a  little  mossy  seat, 
in  an  arbor,  at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  It  was  Sunday 
evening,  and  Eva's  Bible  lay  open  on  her  knee.  She  read, 
— "And  I  saw  a  sea  of  glass,  mingled  with  fire." 

"Tom,"  said  Eva,  suddenly  stopping,  and  pointing  to  the 
lake,  "there  't  is." 
"What,  Miss  Eva?" 

"Don't  you  see, — there  ?"  said  the  child,  pointing  to  the 
glassy  water,  which,  as  it  rose  and  fell,  reflected  the  golden 
glow  of  the  sky.  "There  's  a  'sea  of  glass,  mingled  with 
fire.' " 

"True  enough,  Miss  Eva,"  said  Tom;   and  Tom  sang; 

"0,  had  I  the  wings  of  the  morning, 

I  'd  fly  away  to  Canaan's  shore ; 
Bright  angels  should  convey  me  home, 
To  the  new  Jerusalem." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


175 


"Where  do  you  suppose  new  Jerusalem  is,  Uncle  Tom?" 
said  Eva. 

"0,  up  in  the  clouds,  Miss  Eva." 

"Then  I   think   I  see   it,"  said  Eva.    "Look  in  those 


"Uncle  Tom,  I'm  going  there." 

clouds ! — they  look  like  great  gates  of  pearl ;  and  you  can 
see  beyond  them — far,  far  off —  it  's  all  gold.  Tom,  sing 
about  'spirits  bright/  " 

12- Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


176  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

X 

Tom  sung  the  words  of  a  well-known  Methodist  hymn : 

"I  see  a  band  of  spirits  bright, 

That  taste  the  glories  there; 
They  are  all  robed  in  spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear/' 

"Uncle  Tom,  I  >ve  seen  them/'  said  Eva. 
Tom  had  no  doubt  of  it  at  all;  it  did  not  surprise  him  in 
the  least.    If  Eva  had  told  him  she  had  been  j;o  heaven,  ho 
would  have  thought  it  entirely  probable. 

"They  come  to  me  sometimes  in  my  sleep,  those  spirits ;" 
and  Eva's  eyes  grew  dreamy,  and  she  hummed,  in  a  low 
voice, 

"They  are  all  robed  in  spotless  white, 
And  conquering  palms  they  bear." 

"TJncle  Tom,"  said  Eva,  "I  'm  going  there." 

"Where,  Miss  Eva?" 

The  child  rose,  and  pointed  her  little  hand  to  the  sky; 
the  glow  of  evening  lit  her  golden  hair  and  flushed  cheek 
with  a  kind  of  unearthly  radiance,  and  her  eyes  were  bent 
earnestly  on  the  skies. 

"I  'm  going  there,"  she  said,  "to  the  spirits  bright,  Tom; 
I  'm  going,  before  long." 

The  faithful  old  heart  felt  a  sudden  thrust;  and  Tom 
thought  how  often  he  had  noticed,  within  six  months,  that 
Eva's  little  hands  had  grown  thinner,  and  her  skin  more 
transparent,  and  her  breath  shorter;  and  how,  when  she 
ran  or  played  in  the  garden,  as  she  once  could  for  hours, 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  177 

she  became  soon  so  tired  and  languid.  They  were  inter- 
rupted by  a  hasty  call  from  Miss  Ophelia. 

"Eva — Eva! — why,  child,  the  dew  is  falling;  you 
mustn't  be  out  there!" 

She  had  noted  the  slight,  dry,  cough,  the  daily  brighten- 
ing cheek,  and  tried  to  communicate  her  fears  to  St.  Clare ; 
but  he  threw  back  her  suggestions  with  a  restless  petu- 
lance, unlike  his  usual  careless  good  humor. 

"Don't  be  croaking,  cousin, — I  hate  it!"  he  would  say; 
"don't  }rou  see  that  the  child  is  only  growing?  Children 
always  lose  strength  when  they  grow  fast." 

The  child's  whole  heart  and  soul  seemed  absorbed  in 
works  of  love  and  kindness,  and  there  was  a  touching  and 
womanly  thoughtfulness  about  her  now,  that  everyone 
noticed.  She  would  sit  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  laugh- 
ing at  the  odd  tricks  of  Topsy, — and  then  a  shadow  would 
seem  to  pass  across  her  face,  her  eyes  grew  misty,  and  her 
thoughts  were  afar. 

"Mamma,"  she  said,  suddenly,  to  her  mother,  one  day, 
"why  don't  we  teach  our  servants  to  read  ?" 

"What  a  question,  child !    People  never  do." 

"Why  don't  they?"  said  Eva. 

"Because  it  is  no  use  for  them  to  read.  It  don't  help 
them  to  work  any  better,  and  they  are  not  made  for  any- 
thing else." 

"But  they  ought  to  read  the  Bible,  mamma,  to  learn 
God's  will."" 

"0 !  they  can  get  that  read  to  them  all  they  need." 

"It  seems  to  me,  mamma,  the  Bible  is  for  everyone  to 
read  themselves.  They  need  it  a  great  many  times  when 
there  is  nobody  to  read  it." 


178  TJncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"Eva,  you  are  an  odd  child,"  said  her  mother.  "See 
here!"  she  added,  "these  jewels  I  'm  going  to  give  you 
when  you  come  out.  I  wore  them  to  my  first  hall.  I  can 
tell  you,  Eva,  I  made  a  sensation." 

Eva  took  the  jewel-case,  and  lifted  from  it  a  diamond 
necklace.  Her  large,  thoughful  eyes  rested  on  them,  but 
it  was  plain  her  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

"How  sober  you  look,  child !"  said  Marie. 

"Are  these  worth  a  great  deal  of  money,  mamma  ?" 

"To  be  sure  they  are.  Father  sent  to  France  for  them. 
They  are  worth  a  small  fortune." 

"I  wish  I  had  them,"  said  Eva,  "to  do  what  I  pleased 
with!" 

"What  would  you  do  with  them  ?" 

"I  'd  sell  them,  and  buy  a  place  in  the  free  States,  and 
take  all  our  people  there,  and  hire  teachers,  to  teach  them 
to  read  and  write." 

Eva  was  cut  short  by  her  mother's  laughing. 

"Set  up  a  boarding-school!  Would  n't  you  teach  them 
to  play  on  the  piano,  and  paint  on  velvet  ?" 

"I  'd  teach  them  to  read  their  own  Bible,  and  write  their 
own  letters,  and  read  letters  that  are  written  to  them," 
said  Eva,  steadily.  "I  know,  mamma,  it  does  come  very 
hard  on  them,  that  they  can't  do  these  things.  Tom  feels 
it, — Mammy  does, — a  great  many  of  them  do.  I  think  it  *s 
wrong." 

"Come,  come,  Eva;  you  are  only  a  child!  You  don't 
know  anything  about  these  things,"  said  Marie;  "besides, 
your  talking  makes  my  head  ache." 

Eva  stole  away;  but  after  that,  she  assiduously  gave 
Mammy  reading  lessons. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  179 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

HENRIQUE. 

4  BOUT  this  time,  St.  Clare's  brother  Alfred,  with. 
y~^  his  eldest  son,  a  hoy  of  twelve,  spent  a  day  or 
two  with  the  family.  Henrique,  the  eldest  son 
of  Alfred,  was  a  noble,  dark-eyed  boy,  full  of  vivacity  and 
spirit;  and,  from  the  first  moment  of  introduction,  seemed 
to  be  perfectly  fascinated  by  the  graces  of  his  cousin 
Evangeline. 

Eva  had  a  little  pet  pony,  of  a  snowy  whiteness.  It  was 
easy  as  a  cradle,  and  as  gentle  as  its  little  mistress;  and 
this  pony  was  now  brought  up  to  the  verandah  by  Tom, 
while  a  little  mulatto  boy  led  along  a  small  black  Arabian, 
which  had  just  been  imported,  at  a  great  expense,  for  Hen- 
rique. As  he  advanced  and  took  the  reins  out  of  the  hands 
of  his  little  groom,  his  brow  darkened. 

"What  's  this,  Dodo,  you  little  lazy  dog!  you  have  n't 
rubbed  my  horse  down,  this  morning." 

"Yes,  mas'r,"  said  Dodo,  submissively;  "he  got  that 
dust  on  his  own  self/' 

"You  rascal,  shut  your  mouth!"  said  Henrique,  violently 
raising  his  riding  whip.  "Plow  dare  you  speak?" 

"Mas'r  Henrique! — "  he  began. 

Henrique  struck  him  across  the  face  with  his  riding- 


180  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

whip,  and,  seizing  one  of  his  arms,  forced  him  on  to  his 
knees,  and  beat  him  till  he  was  out  of  breath. 

"There,  you  impudent  dog!  Now  will  you  learn  not  to 
answer  back  when  I  speak  to  you  ?  Take  the  horse  back, 
and  clean  him  properly.  I  '11  teach  you  your  place  I" 

"Young  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  "I  spects  what  he  was  gwine 
to  say  was,  that  the  horse  would  roll  when  he  was  bringing 
him  up  from  the  stable;  he  'a  so  full  of  spirits, — that  's 
the  way  he  got  that  dirt  on  him;  I  looked  to  his  cleaning." 

"You  hold  your  tongue  till  you  're  asked  to  speak  I"  said 
Henrique.  "Dear  cousin,  I  'm  sorry  this  stupid  fellow  has 
kept  you  waiting/'  he  said.  "What  's  the  matter,  you  look 
sober." 

"How  could  you  be  so  cruel  and  wicked  to  poor  Dodo?" 
said  Eva. 

"Cruel, — wicked!"  said  the  boy,  with  unaffected  sur- 
prise. "What  do  you  mean,  dear  Eva  ?" 

"I  don't  want  you  to  call  me  dear  Eva,  when  you  do  so," 
eaid  Eva. 

"Dear  cousin,  you  do  n't  know  Dodo ;  it 's  the  only  way 
to  manage  him,  he  's  so  full  of  lies  and  excuses." 

(CBui  Uncle  Tom  said  it  was  an  accident,  and  he  neve 
tells  wlfat  is  n't  true." 

"He  's  an  uncommon  old  nigger,  then !"  said  Henrique. 
"Dodo  will  lie  as  fast  as  he  can  speak;  but  I  won't  beat 
him  again  before  you,  if  it  troubles  you." 

Eva  was  not  satisfied,  but  found  it  in  vain  to  try  to  make 
her  cousin  understand  her  feelings. 

Dodo  soon  appeared,  with  the  horses. 

"Well,  Dodo,  you  've  done  pretty  well,  this  time,"  said 
his  young  master,  with  a  more  gracious  air.  "Come,  now, 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


181 


and  hold  Miss  Eva's  horse,  while  I  put  her  on  to  the 

saddle." 


"There,  you  impudent  dog." 

When  he  had  placed  the  reins  in  her  hands,  Eva  bent  to 
the  other  side  of  the  horse,  where  Dodo  was  standing,  and 
said,  "That  's  a  good  boy,  Dodo;— thank  you!" 


182  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Dodo  looked  up.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  cheeks,  and 
the  tears  to  his  eyes. 

"Here,  Dodo,"  said  his  master,  imperiously. 

Dodo  sprang  and  held  the  horse,  while  his  master 
mounted.  "There's  something  for  you  to  buy  candy  with, 
Dodo,"  said  he,  and  cantered  down  the  walk  after  Eva. 

St.  Clare  and  his  brother  were  playing  a  game  of  back- 
gammon when  the  children  returned  from  their  ride.  Eva 
was  dressed  in  a  blue  riding-dress,  with  a  cap  of  the  same 
color.  Exercise  had  given  a  brilliant  hue  to  her  cheeks, 
and  heightened  the  effect  of  her  singularly  transparent 
skin,  and  golden  hair. 

"What  perfectly  dazzling  beauty!"  said  Alfred.  "I  tell 
you,  Auguste,  won't  she  make  some  hearts  ache,  one  of 
these  days?" 

"She  will,  too  truly, — God  knows  I  'in  afraid  so!"  said 
St.  Clare,  in  a  tone  of  sudden  bitterness,  as  he  hurried 
down  to  take  her  off  her  horse. 

"Eva,  darling!  you  're  not  much  tired?"  he  said,  as  he 
clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"!N"o,  papa,"  said  the  child;  but  her  short,  hard  breath- 
ing alarmed  her  father. 

"How  could  you  ride  so  fast,  dear  ? — you  know  it 's  bad 
for  you." 

"I  felt  so  well,  papa,  and  liked  it  so  much,  I  forgot." 

St.  Clare  carried  her  in  his  arms  into  the  parlor  and  laid 
her  on  the  sofa,  and  she  soon  found  herself  much  better. 
Her  father  and  uncle  resumed  their  game,  and  the  children 
were  left  together. 

"Do  you  know,  Eva,  I  don't  mean  to  treat  Dodo  ill ;  but, 
you  know,  I  've  got  such  a  quick  temper.  I  'm  not  really 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


183 


bad  to  him,  though.  I  give  him  money  now  and  then;  and 
you  see  he  dresses  well.  I  think,  on  the  whole,  Dodo  's 
pretty  well  off." 


"How  could  you  be  so  cru^l  to  Dodo?" 

"Would  you  think  you  were  well  off,  if  there  were  not 
one  creature  in  the  world  near  you  to  love  you  ?" 
"I?— Well,  of  course  not." 
"And  you  have  taken  Dodo  away  from  all  the  friends  he 


184  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

ever  had,  and  now  he  has  not  a  creature  to  love  him;— 
nobody  can  be  good  that  way." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  it,  as  I  know  of.  I  can't  get  his 
mother,  and  I  can't  love  him  myself,  nor  anybody  else,  as  I 
know  of." 

"Why  can't  you?"  said  Eva. 

"Love  Dodo !  Why  Eva,  you  would  n't  have  me !  I  may 
like  him  well  enough ;  but  you  don't  love  your  servants." 

"I  do,  indeed." 

"How  odd!" 

"Don't  the  Bible  say  we  must  love  everybody?" 

"0,  the  Bible!  To  be  sure,  it  says  a  great  many  such 
things;  but,  then,  nobody  ever  thinks  of  doing  them, — you 
know,  Eva,  nobody  does." 

Eva  did  not  speak;  her  eyes  were  fixed  and  thoughtful, 
for  a  few  moments. 

"At  any  rate,"  she  said,  "dear  cousin,  do  love  poor  Dodo, 
and  be  kind  to  him,  for  my  sake !" 

The  dinner-bell  put  an  end  to  the  interview. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  185 

tto 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FORESHADOWINGS. 

TWO  days  after  this,  Alfred  St.  Clare  and  Augustine 
parted;  and  Eva,  who  had  been  stimulated  by  the 
society  of  her  young  cousin,  to  exertions  beyond 
her  strength,  began  to  fail  rapidly.  St.  Clare  was  at  last 
willing  to  call  in  medical  advice, — a  thing  from  which  he 
had  always  shrunk,  because  it  was  the  admission  of  an 
unwelcome  truth. 

Marie  St.  Clare  had  taken  no  notice  of  the  child's  grad- 
ually decaying  health  and  strength,  because  she  was  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  studying  out  two  or  three  new  forms  of 
disease  to  which  she  believed  she  herself  was  a  victim. 

Miss  Ophelia  had  several  times  tried  to  awaken  her 
maternal  fears  about  Eva;  but  to  no  avail. 

In  a  week  or  two,  there  was  a  great  improvement  of 
symptoms,  and  Eva's  step  was  again  in  the  garden, — in 
the  balconies;  she  played  and  laughed  again, — and  her 
father,  in  a  transport,  declared  that  they  should  soon 
have  her  as  hearty  as  anybody.  Miss  Ophelia  and  the 
physician  alone  felt  no  encouragement  from  this  illusive 
truce.  There  was  one  other  heart,  too,  that  felt  the  same 
certainty,  and  that  was  the  little  heart  of  Eva. 

For  the  child,  though  nursed  so  tenderly,  and  though 


186  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

life  was  unfolding  before  her  with  every  brightness  thai 
love  and  wealth  could  give,  had  no  regret  for  herself  in 
dying. 

In  that  booK  which  she  and  her  simple  old  friend  had 
read  so  much  together,  she  had  seen  and  taken  to  her 
young  heart  the  image  of  One  who  loved  the  little  child; 
and,  as  she  gazed  and  mused,  He  had  ceased  to  be  an  image 
and  a  picture  of  the  distant  past,  and  come  to  be  a  living, 
all-surrounding  reality.  But  her  heart  yearned  with  sad 
tenderness  for  all  that  she  was  to  leave  behind. 

Eva  came  tripping  up  the  verandah  steps  to  her  father. 
He  folded  her  suddenly  in  his  arms,  and  said: 

"Eva,  dear,  you  are  better  nowadays, — are  you  not?" 

"Papa,"  said  Eva,  with  sudden  firmness,  "I  've  had 
things  I  wanted  to  say  to  you,  a  great  while.  I  want  to  say 
them  now,  before  I  get  weaker." 

St.  Clare  trembled  as  Eva  seated  herself  in  his  lap.  She 
laid  her  head  on  his  bosom,  and  said, 

"It  'a  all  no  use,  papa,  to  keep  it  to  myself  any  longer. 
The  time  is  coming  that  I  am  going  to  leave  you.  I  am 
going,  and  never  to  come  back!"  and  Eva  sobbed. 

"6,  now,  my  dear  little  Eva!"  said  St.  Clare,  trembling 
as  he  spoke,  but  speaking  cheerfully,  "you  've  got  nervous 
and  low-spirited;  you  must  n't  indulge  such  gloomy 
thoughts." 

"No,  papa,"  said  Eva,  "don't  deceive  yourself! — I  am 
not  any  better,  I  know  it  perfectly  well, — and  I  am  going, 
before  long.  I  am  not  nervous, — I  am  not  low-spirited.  If 
it  were  not  for  you,  papa,  and  my  friends,  I  should  be  per- 
f ectlv  happy.  I  want  to  go, — I  long  to  go !" 

"Why,  dear  child,  what  has  made  your  poor  little  heart 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


187 


so  sad?  'You  have  had  everything,  to  make  you  happy, 
that  could  be  given  you." 

"I   had   rather   be   in   heaven;   though,   only   for  my 
friends'  sake,  I  would  be  willing  to  live.    There  are  a  great 


"No,  papa,  don't  deceive  yourself!" 

many  things  here  that  make  me  sad,  that  seem  dreadful 
to  me;  I  had  rather  be  there;  but  I  don't  want  to  leave 
you, — it  almost  breaks  my  heart!" 


188  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"What  makes  you  sad,  and  seems  dreadful,  Eva?" 

"0,  things  that  are  done,  and  done  all  the  time.  I  feel 
sad  for  our  poor  people;  they  love  me  dearly,  and  they  are 
all  good  and  kind  to  me.  I  wish,  papa,  they  were  all  free." 

"Why,  don't  you  think  they  are  well  enough  off  now?" 

"0,  but,  papa,  if  anything  should  happen  to  you,  what 
would  become  of  them?  Papa,  these  poor  creatures  love 
their  children  as  much  as  you  do  me.  0 !  do  something  for 
them!  There  's  poor  Mammy  loves  her  children;  I  've 
seem  her  cry  when  she  talked  about  them.  And  Tom  loves 
his  children;  and  it 's  dreadful,  papa,  that  such  things  are 
happening,  all  the  time !" 

"There,  there,  darling,"  said  St.  Clare,  soothingly;  "only 
don't  distress  yourself,  and  don't  talk  of  dying,  and  I  will 
do  anything  you  wish." 

"And  promise  me,  dear  father,  that  Tom  shall  have  his 
freedom  as  soon  as" — she  stopped,  and  said,  in  a  hesitating 
tone — "I  am  gone!" 

"Yes,  dear,  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world, — anything 
you  could  ask  me  to." 

"Dear  papa,"  said  the  child,  laying  her  burning  cheek 
against  his,  "how  I  wish  we  could  go  together!" 

"Where,  dearest?"  said  St.  Clare. 

"To  our  Savior's  home;  it 's  so  sweet  and  peaceful  there 
— it  is  all  so  loving  there !"  The  child  spoke  unconsciously, 
as  of  a  place  where  she  had  often  been.  "Don't  you  want 
to  go,  papa  ?"  she  said. 

St.  Clare  drew  her  closer  to  him,  but  was  silent. 

"Yon  will  come  to  me,"  said  the  child,  speaking  in  a 
voice  of  calm  certainty  which  she  often  used  unconsciously, 

"I  shall  come  after  you.    I  shall  not  forget  you." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  189 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  LITTLE  EVANGELIST. 

IT  was  Sunday  afternoon.  St.  Clare  was  stretched  on  a 
bamboo  lounge  in  the  verandah,  solacing  himself 
with  a  cigar.  Marie  lay  reclined  on  a  sofa,  opposite 
the  window  opening  on  the  verandah,  closely  secluded, 
under  an  awning  of  transparent  gauze,  from  the  outrages 
of  the  mosquitos,  and  languidly  holding  in  her  hand  an 
elegantly-bound  prayer-book.  She  was  holding  it  because 
it  was  Sunday,  and  she  imagined  she  had  been  reading 
it, — though,  in  fact,  she  had  been  only  taking  a  succession 
of  short  naps,  with  it  open  in  her  hand. 

Miss  Ophelia,  who,  after  some  rummaging,  had  hunted 
up  a  small  Methodist  meeting  within  riding  distance,  had 
gone  out,  with  Tom  as  driver,  to  attend  it;  and  Eva  had 
accompanied  them.  Soon  after  their  return  Miss  Ophelia 
appeared,  dragging  Topsy  after  her. 

"Come  out  here,  now!"  she  said.  "I  will  tell  your 
master!" 

"What  's  the  case  now?"  asked  Augustine. 

"The  case  is,  that  I  cannot  be  plagued  with  this  child 
any  longer!  It 's  past  all  bearing;  flesh  and  blood  cannot 
endure  it!  Here,  I  locked  her  up,  and  gave  her  a  hymn  to 
study;  and  what  does  she  do,  but  spy  out  where  I  put  my 


190  'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

key,  and  has  gone  to  my  bureau,  and  got  a  bonnet  trim- 
ming and  cut  it  all  to  pieces,  to  make  dolls'  jackets!  I 
never  saw  anything  like  it,  in  my  life!" 

"Come  here,  Tops,  you  monkey  I"  said  St.  Clare,  calling 
the  child  up  to  him. 

Topsy  came  up;  her  round,  hard  eyes  glittering  and 
blinking  with  a  mixture  of  apprehensiveness  and  their 
usual  odd  drollery. 

"What  makes  you  behave  so?"  said  St.  Clare,  who  could 
not  help  being  amused  with  the  child's  expression. 

"Spects  it  's  my  wicked  heart,"  said  Topsy,  demurely; 
"Miss  Feely  says  so." 

"Don't  you  see  how  much  Miss  Ophelia  has  done  for 
you  ?  She  says  she  has  done  everything  she  can  think  of." 

"Lor,  yes,  Mas'r!  old  Missis  used  to  say  so,  too.  She 
whipped  me  a  heap  harder,  and  used  to  pull  my  har,  and 
knock  my  head  agin  the  dor;  but  it  did  n't  do  me  no  good! 
I  spects,  if  they  's  to  pull  every  spear  o'  har  out  o'  my 
head,  it  would  n't  do  no  good,  neither, — I  's  so  wicked! 
Laws !  I  's  nothin'  but  a  nigger,  no  ways !" 

Eva,  who  had  stood  a  silent  spectator  of  the  scene  thus 
far,  made  a  silent  sign  to  Topsy  to  follow  her.  There  was 
a  little  glass  room  at  the  corner  of  the  verandah,  which 
St.  Clare  used  as  a  sort  of  reading-room;  and  Eva  and 
Topsy  disappeared  into  this  place. 

St.  Clare  lifted  up  a  curtain  that  covered  the  glass  door, 
and  looked  in.  In  a  moment,  laying  his  finger  on  his  lips, 
he  made  a  silent  gesture  to  Miss  Ophelia  to  come  and  look. 
There  sat  the  two  children  on  the  floor,  Topsy,  with  her 
usual  air  of  careless  drollery  and  unconcern;  Eva,  with 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  "191 

her  whole  face  fervent  with  feeling,  and  tears  in  her  large 
eyes. 

"What  does  make  you  so  bad,  Topsy?    Why  won't  you 
try  and  be  good  ?    Don't  you  love  anybody,  Topsy?" 


"I  will  tell  your  master." 

"Dunno  nothing  'bout  love;    I  loves  candy  and  sich, 
that  's  all/'  said  Topsy. 

r<But  you  love  your  father  and  mother  ?" 

"Never  had  none,  ye  know.    I  telled  ye  that,  Miss  Eva." 

13— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


192  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"0,  I  know/'  said  Eva,  sadly;  "but  had  n't  you  any 
brother,  or  sister,  or  aunt,  or — " 

"No,  none  on  'em, — never  had  nothing  nor  nobody." 

"But,  Topsy,  if  you  'd  only  try  to  be  good,  you  might — " 

"Could  n't  never  be  nothiii'  but  a  nigger,  if  I  was  ever 
BO  good,"  said  Topsy.  "If  I  could  be  skinned,  and  come 
white,  I  'd  try  then." 

"But  people  can  love  you,  if  you  are  black,  Topsy.  Miss 
Ophelia  would  love  you,  if  you  were  good." 

Topsy  gave  the  short,  blunt  laugh  that  was  her  common 
mode  of  expressing  incredulity. 

"Don't  you  think  so?"  said  Eva. 

"No;  she  can't  bar  me,  'cause  I  'm  a  nigger! — she  'd  *n 
Boon  have  a  toad  touch  her !  There  can't  nobody  love  nig- 
gers, and  niggers  can't  do  nothin' !  I  don't  care,"  said 
Topsy,  beginning  to  whistle. 

"0,  Topsy,  poor  child,  I  love  you!"  said  Eva,  with  a 
sudden  burst  of  feeling,  and  laying  her  little  thin,  white 
hand  on  Topsy's  shoulder;  "I  love  you,  because  you 
haven't  had  any  father,  or  mother,  or  friends; — because 
you've  been  a  poor,  abused  child!  I  love  you,  and  I  want 
you  to  be  good.  I  am  very  unwell,  Topsy,  and  I  think  I 
shan't  live  a  great  while ;  and  it  really  grieves  me,  to  have 
you  be  so  naughty.  I  wish  you  would  try  to  be  good,  for 
my  sake; — it's  only  a  little  while  I  shall  be  with  you." 

"0,  dear  Miss  Eva,  dear  Miss  Eva!"  said  the  child;  "I 
will  try,  I  will  try;  I  never  did  care  nothin'  about  it  be- 
fore." ' 

St.  Clare  dropped  the  curtain. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly,  193 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

DEATH. 

deceitful  strength  which  had  buoyed  Eva  up  for 
a  little  while  was  fast  passing  away. 

One  afternoon,  as  she  was  reclining  on  a  lounge 
"by  the  open  window,  she  heard  her  mother's  voice,  in 
sharp  tones,  in  the  verandah. 

"You've  been  picking  the  flowers,  hey  ?"  and  Eva  heard 
the  sound  of  a  smart  slap. 

"Law,  Missis! — they's  for  Miss  Eva,"  she  heard  Topsy 
reply. 

"Miss  Eva!  A  pretty  excuse! — you  suppose  she  wants 
your  flowers,  you  good-for-nothing  nigger  ?  Get  along  off 
with  you!" 

In  a  moment,  Eva  was  off  from  her  lounge,  and  in  the 
verandah. 

"0,  don't  mother!  I  should  like  the  flowers;  do  give 
them  to  me ;  I  want  them !" 

"Why,  Eva,  your  room  is  full  now." 

"I  can't  have  too  many,"  said  Eva.  "Topsy,  do  bring 
them  here." 

Topsy,  who  had  stood  sullenly,  holding  down  her  head, 
now  came  up  and  offered  her  flowers.  She  did  it  with  a 
look  of  hesitation  and  bashfulness,  quite  unusual  to  her. 


194  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

She  looked  pleased,  as  Eva  said, — "Topsy,  you  arrange 
flowers  very  prettily.  Here,"  she  said,  "is  this  vase  I 
haven't  any  flowers  for.  I  wish  you'd  arrange  something 
every  day  for  it." 

"Well,  that's  odd!"  said  Marie.  "What  in  the  world 
do  you  want  that  for  ?" 

"Never  mind,  mamma ;  you'd  as  lief  as  not  Topsy  should 
do  it, — had  you  not  ?" 

"Of  course,  anything  you  please,  dear !  Topsy,  you  hear 
your  young  mistress; — see  that  you  mind." 

Topsy  made  a  short  courtesy,  and  looked  down;  and,  as 
she  turned  away,  Eva  saw  a  tear  roll  down  her  dark  cheek. 

"You  see,  mamma,  I  knew  poor  Topsy  wanted  to  do 
something  for  me,"  said  Eva  to  her  mother. 

"0,  nonsense !  it's  only  because  she  likes  to  do  mischief. 
She  knows  she  mustn't  pick  flowers;  but,  if  you  fancy  to 
have  her  pluck  them,  so  be  it." 

"Mamma,  I  think  Topsy  is  different  from  what  she  used 
to  be ;  she's  trying  to  be  a  good  girl." 

"She'll  have  to  try  a  good  while  before  she  gets  to  be 
good,"  said  Marie,  with  a  careless  laugh. 

"Mamma,  you  believe,  don't  you,  that  Topsy  could  be- 
come an  angel,  as  well  as  any  of  us,  if  she  were  a  Chris- 
tian?" 

"Topsy !  what  a  ridiculous  idea !  Nobody  but  you  would 
ever  think  of  it.  I  suppose  she  could,  though." 

"It's  such  a  pity, — oh!  such  a  pity!"  said  Eva,  looking 
out  on  the  distant  lake,  and  speaking  half  to  herself. 

"What's  a  pity?"  said  Marie. 

"Why,  that  any  one,  who  could  be  a  bright  angel,  and 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


195 


live  with  angels,  should  go  all  down,  down,  down,  and 
nobody  help  them! — oh,  dear!" 

"Mamma,"  said  Eva,  "I  want  to  have  some  of  my  hair 


"Law,   Missis! they's  for  Miss  Eva." 

cut  off, — a  good  deal  of  it." 

"What  for?"  said  Marie. 

"Mamma,  I  want  to  give  some  away  to  my  friends,  while 
I  am  able  to  give  it  to  them  myself.  Won't  you  ask  aunty 
to  come  and  cut  it  for  me  ?" 


196  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"What's  that,"  said  St.  Clare,  who  just  then  entered. 
"Papa,  I  just  want  Aunty  to  cut  off  some  of  my  hair;  I 
want  to  give  some  of  it  away." 

Miss  Ophelia  came,  with  her  scissors. 

St.  Clare  closed  his  lips,  and  stood  gloomily  eyeing  the 
long,  beautiful  curls,  which,  as  they  were  separated  from 
the  child's  head,  were  laid,  one  by  one,  in  her  lap.  She 
raised  them  up,  looked  earnestly  at  them,  twined  them 
around  her  thin  fingers,  and  looked,  from  time  to  time, 
anxiously  at  her  father. 

Marie  lay  back  on  a  lounge,  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  cambric  handkerchief. 

Eva's  clear  blue  eye  looked  earnestly  from  one  to  the 
other.  It  was  evident  she  saw,  felt,  and  appreciated,  the 
difference  between  the  two.  Her  father  came,  and  sat 
down  by  her. 

"Papa,  my  strength  fades  away  every  day,  and  I  know 
I  must  go.  I  want  to  see  all  our  people  together.  I  have 
some  things  I  must  say  to  them,"  said  Eva. 

Miss  Ophelia  dispatched  a  messenger,  and  soon  the 
whole  of  the  servants  were  convened  in  the  room. 

Eva  lay  back  on  her  pillows;  her  hair  hanging  loosely 
about  her  face,  her  crimson  cheeks  contrasting  painfully 
with  the  intense  whiteness  of  her  complexion. 

Then  she  raised  herself,  and  looked  long  and  earnestly 
round  at  every  one. 

"I  sent  for  you  all,  my  dear  friends,"  said  Eva,  "be- 
cause I  love  you.  I  love  you  all ;  and  I  have  something  to 

say  to  you,  which  I  want  you  always  to  remember 

I  am  going  to  leave  you.  In  a  few  more  weeks,  you  will 
see  me  no  more — " 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


197 


Here  the  child  was  interrupted  by  bursts  of  groans,  sobs, 
and%  lamentations,  which  broke  from  all  present,  and  in 
which  her  slender  voice  was  lost  entirely.  She  waited  a 
moment,  and  then,  speaking  in  a  tone  that  checked  the 


**I  am  going  to  leave  you." 


Bobs  of  all,  she  said, 

"If  you  love  me,  you  must  not  interrupt  me  so.  Listen 
to  what  I  say.  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  your  souls. 
....  Many  of  you,  I  am  afraid,  are  very  careless.  You 
are  thinking  only  about  this  world.  I  want  you  to  re- 


198  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

member  that  there  is  a  beautiful  world,  where  Jesus  is.  I 
am  going  there,  and  you  can  go  there.  It  is  for  you,  as 
much  as  me.  But,  if  you  want  to  go  there,  }r9u  must  not 
live  idle,  careless,  thoughtless  lives.  You  must  be  Chris- 
tians. You  must  remember  that  each  one  of  you  can  be- 
come angels,  and  be  angels  forever If  you  want  to 

be  Christians,  Jesus  will  help  you.  You  must  pray  to 
him;  you  must  read — " 

The  child  checked  herself,  looked  piteously  at  them,  and 
said,  sorrowfully, 

"0,  dear !  you  can't  read, — poor  souls !"  and  she  hid  her 
face  in  the  pillow  and  sobbed,  while  many  a  smothered 
sob  from  those  she  was  addressing,  who  were  kneeling  on 
the  floor,  aroused  her. 

"Never  mind,"  she  said,  raising  her  face  and  smiling 
brightly  through  her  tears,  "I  have  prayed  for  you;  and 
I  know  Jesus  will  help  you,  even  if  you  can't  read.  Try 
all  to  do  the  best  you  can;  pray  every  day;  ask  Him  to 
help  you,  and  get  the  Bible  read  to  you  whenever  you 
can;  and  I  think  I  shall  see  you  all  in  heaven." 

"Amen,"  was  the  murmured  response  from  the  lips  of 
Tom  and  Mammy,  and  some  of  the  elder  ones,  who  be- 
longed to  the  Methodist  church.  The  younger  and  more 
thoughtless  ones  were  sobbing,  with  their  heads  bowed 
upon  their  knees. 

"There  isn't  one  of  you  that  hasn't  always  been  very 
kind  to  me ;  and  I  want  to  give  you  something  that,  when 
you  look  at,  you  shall  always  remember  me.  I'm  going 
to  give  all  of  yon  a  curl  of  my  hair;  and,  when  you  look 
at  it,  think  that  I  loved  you  and  am  gone  to  heaven,  and 
that  I  want  to  see  you  all  there." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  199 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  scene,  as,  with  tears  and 
sobs,  they  gathered  round  the  little  creature,  and  took 
from  her  hands  what  seemed  to  them  a  last  mark  of  her 
love.  They  fell  on  their  knees;  they  sobbed,  and  prayed, 
and  kissed  the  hem  of  her  garment;  and  the  elder  ones 
poured  forth  words  of  endearment,  mingled  in  prayers 
and  blessings. 

St.  Clare  had  been  sitting,  during  the  whole  time,  with 
his  hands  shading  his  eyes,  in  the  same  attitude.  When 
they  were  all  gone,  he  sat  so  still. 

"Papa !"  said  Eva,  gently,  laying  her  hand  on  his. 

He  gave  a  sudden  start  and  shiver;  but  made  no  answer. 

"Dear  papa!"  said  Eva. 

"I  cannot/'  said  St.  Clare,  rising,  "I  cannot  have  it  so! 
The  Almighty  hath  dealt  very  bitterly  with  me!"  and 
St.  Clare  pronounced  these  words  with  a  bitter  emphasis, 
indeed. 

"Augustine!  has  not  God  a  right  to  do  what  He  will 
with  his  own  ?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"Perhaps  so;  but  that  doesn't  make  it  any  easier  to 
bear/'  said  he,  with  a  dry,  hard,  tearless  manner,  as  he 
turned  away. 

"Papa,  you  break  my  heart !"  said  Eva,  rising  and  throw- 
ing herself  in  his  arms;  "you  must  not  feel  so!"  and  the 
child  sobbed  and  wept  with  a  violence  which  alarmed  them 
all,  and  turned  her  father's  thoughts  at  once  to  another 
channel. 

"There,  Eva, — there,  dearest!  Hush!  hush!  I  was 
wrong;  I  was  wicked.  I  will  feel  any  way,  do  any  way, — 
only  don't  distress  yourself;  don't  sob  so.  I  will  be  re- 
signed; I  was  wicked  to  speak  as  I  did." 


200  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Eva  soon  lay  like  a  wearied  dove  in  her  father's  arms; 
and  he,  bending  over  her,  soothed  her  by  every  tender 
word  he  could  think  of. 

Marie  rose  and  threw  herself  out  of  the  apartment  into 
her  own,  when  si  e  fell  into  violent  hysterics. 

Uncle  Tom  was  much  in  Eva's  room.  The  child  suffered 
much  from  nervous  restlessness,  and  it  was  a  relief  to  her 
to  be  carried;  and  it  was  Tom's  greatest  delight  to  carry 
her  little  frail  form  in  his  arms,  resting  on  a  pillow,  now 
up  and  down  her  room,  now  out  into  the  verandah;  and 
when  the  fresh  sea-breezes  blew — and  the  child  felt  fresh- 
est in  the  morning, — he  would  sometimes  walk  with  her 
under  the  orange-trees  in  the  garden,  or,  sitting  down  in 
some  of  their  old  seats,  sing  to  her  their  favorite  old 
hymns. 

At  last  he  would  not  sleep  in  his  room,  but  lay  all  night 
in  the  outer  verandah,  ready  to  rouse  at  every  call. 

At  midnight,  the  door  of  Eva's  room  was  quickly  opened. 
"Go  for  the  doctor,  Tom!  lose  not  a  moment,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia;  and,  stepping  across  the  room,  she  rapped  at  St. 
Clare's  door.  "Cousin,"  she  said,  "I  wish  you  would 
come." 

In  a  few  moments,  Tom  returned,  with  the  doctor.  H« 
entered,  gave  one  look,  and  stood  silent  as  the  rest. 

Marie  roused  by  the  entrance  of  the  doctor,  appeared, 
hurriedly,  from  the  next  room. 

"Augustine !  Cousin ! — 0 ! — what !"  she  hurriedly  began. 

"Hush!"  said  St.  Clare,  hoarsely;  "she  is  dying!" 

Mammy  heard  the  words,  and  flew  to  awaken  the  ser* 
vants.  The  house  was  soon  roused, — lights  were  seen, 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  201 

footsteps  heard,  anxious  faces  thronged  the  verandah,  and 
looked  tearfully  through  the  glass  door;  but  St.  Clare 
heard  and  said  nothing, — he  saw  only  that  look  on  the  face 
of  the  little  sleeper. 

"0,  if  she  would  only  wake,  and  speak  once  more!"  he 
said:  and,  stooping  over  her,  he  spoke  in  her  ear, — "Eva, 
darling!" 

"Dear  papa,"  said  the  child,  with  a  last  effort,  throwing 
her  arms  about  his  neck.  In  a  moment  they  dropped 
again;  and,  as  St.  Clare  raised  his  head,  he  saw  a  spasm  of 
mortal  agony  pass  over  the  face, — she  struggled  for  breath, 
and  threw  up  her  little  hands. 

"0,  God,  this  is  dreadful!"  he  said,  turning  away  in 
ngony,  and  wringing  Tom's  hand,  scarce  conscious  what 
he  was  doing,  "0,  Tom,  my  boy,  it  ia  killing  me!" 

Tom  had  his  master's  hands  between  his  own;  and,  with 
tears  streaming  down  his  dark  cheeks,  looked  up  for  help 
where  he  had  always  been  used  to  look. 

"Pray  that  this 'may  be  «ut  short!"  said  St.  Clare,— 
"this  wrings  my  heart." 

"0,  bless  the  Lord!  it*s  over, — it's  over,  dear  Master!" 
said  Torn;  "look  at  her." 

"Eva,"  Paid  St.  Clare,  gently. 

She  did  not  hear. 

"0,  Eva,  tell  us  what  you  see!  What  is  it?"  said  her 
father. 

A  bright,  a  glorious  smile  passed  over  her  face,  and  she 
said,  brokenly, — "0!  love, — joy, — peace!"  gave  one  sigh, 
and  passed  from  death  unto  life! 


202  TJncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
"THIS  is  THE  LAST  OF  EARTH/' — John  Q.  Adams. 

THE  bed  was  draped  in  white;  and  there,  beneath  a 
drooping  angel-figure,  lay  a  little  sleeping  form, — 
sleeping  never  to  awaken! 

There  were  still  flowers  on  the  shelves, — all  white,  deli- 
cate and  fragrant,  with  graceful,  drooping  leaves.  Eva's 
little  table,  covered  with  white,  bore  on  it  her  favorite 
vase,  with  a  single  white  moss  rose-bud  in  it.  Even  now, 
while  St.  Clare  stood  there  thinking,  little  Rosa  tripped 
softly  into  the  chamber  with  a  basket  of  white  flowers. 
She  stepped  back  when  she  saw  St.  Clare,  and  stopped 
respectfully;  but,  seeing  that  he  did  not  observe  her,  she 
came  forward  to  place  them  around  the  dead.  The  door 
opened  again,  and  Topsy,  her  eyes  swelled  with  crying, 
appeared,  holding  something  under  her  apron.  Rosa 
made  a  quick,  forbidding  gesture;  but  she  took  a  step  into 
the  room. 

"You  must  go  out,"  said  Rosa,  in  a  sharp,  positive  whis- 
per; "you  haven't  any  business  here!" 

"0,  do  let  me !  I  brought  a  flower, — such  a  pretty  one !" 
said  Topsy,  holding  up  a  half-blown  tea  rose-bud.  "Do 
let  me  put  just  one  there." 

"Get  along!"  said  Rosa,  more  decidedly. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


203 


"Let  her  stay!"  said  St.  Clare,  suddenly  stamping  his 
foot.  "She  shall  come." 

Topsy  came  forward  and  laid  her  offering  at  the  feet 
of  the  corpse;  then  suddenly,  with  a  wild  and  bitter  cry, 


"She  threw  herself  on  the  floor. 


she  threw  herself  on  the  floor  alongside  the  bed,  and  wept, 
and  moaned  aloud. 

Miss  Ophelia  hastened  into  the  room,  and  tried  to  raise 
and  silence  her;  but  in  vain. 


201  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"Get  up,  child,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  in  a  softened  voice; 
"don't  cry  so.  Miss  Eva  is  gone  to  heaven:  she  is  an 
angel." 

"She  said  she  loved  me,"  said  Topsy, — "she  did!  0, 
dear!  oh,  dear!  there  an't  nobody  left  now, — there  an't!'-* 

Miss  Ophelia  raised  her  gently,  but  firmly,  and  took  her 
from  the  room;  but,  as  she  did  so,  some  tears  fell  from  her 
eyes. 

"Topsy,  you  poor  child,"  she  said,  as  she  led  her  into 
her  room,  "don't  give  up!  I  can  love  you,  though  I  am 
not  like  that  dear  little  child.  I  hope  I've  learnt  some- 
thing of  the  love  of  Christ  from  her.  I  can  love  you;  I  do, 
and  I'll  try  to  help  you  to  grow  up  a  good  Christian  girl." 

Miss  Ophelia's  voice  was  more  than  her  words,  and  more 
than  that  were  the  honest  tears  that  fell  down  her  face. 
From  that  hour,  she  acquired  an  influence  over  the  mind 
of  the  destitute  child  that  she  never  lost. 

There  were,  for  a  while,  soft  whisperings  and  footfalls 
in  the  chamber,  as  one  after  another  stole  in,  to  look  at 
the  dead;  and  then  came  the  little  coffin;  and  then  there 
was  a  funeral,  and  carriages  drove  to  the  door,  and 
strangers  came  and  were  seated;  and  there  were  white 
scarfs  and  ribbons,  and  crape  bands,  and  mourners  dressed 
in  black  crape;  and  there  were  words  read  from  the  Bible, 
and  prayers  offered;  and  St.  Clare  lived,  and  walked,  and 
moved,  as  one  who  has  shed  every  tear; — to  the  last  he 
saw  only  one  thing,  that  golden  head  in  the  coffin. 

One  day  after  the  funeral  Tom,  who  was  always  uneasily 
following  his  master  about,  had  seen  him  go  to  his  library, 
some  hours  before;  and,  after  vainly  waiting  for  him  to 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  205 

come  out,  determined,  at  last,  to  make  an  errand  in.  He 
entered  softly.  St.  Clare  lay  on  his  lounge,  at  the  further 
end  of  the  room.  He  was  lying  on  his  face,  with  Eva's 
Bible  open  before  him,  at  a  little  distance.  Tom  walked 
up>  and  stood  by  the  sofa. 

"If  Mas'r  pleases,"  said  Tom,  "Miss  Eva  used  to  read 
this  so  beautifully.  I  wish  MasVd  be  so  good  as  read  it. 
Don't  get  no  readin',  hardly,  now  Miss  Eva's  gone/' 

The  chapter  was  the  eleventh  of  John, — the  touching 
account  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus.  St.  Clare  read  it  aloud, 
often  pausing  to  wrestle  down  feelings  which  were  roused 
by  the  pathos  of  the  story.  Tom  knelt  before  him,  with 
clasped  hands,  and  with  an  absorbed  expression  of  love, 
trust,  and  adoration,  on  his  quiet  face. 

"Tom,"  said  his  master,  "this  is  all  real  to  you !" 

"I  can  jest  fairly  see  it,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  eyes,  Tom." 

"I  wish,  to  the  dear  Lord,  Mas'r  had!" 

"But,  Tom,  you  know  that  I  have  a  great  deal  more 
knowledge  than  you;  what  if  I  should  tell  you  that  I  don't 
believe  this  Bible?" 

"0,  Mas'r !"  said  Tom,  holding  up  his  hands,  with  a 
deprecating  gesture. 

"Wouldn't  it  shake  your  faith  some,  Tom  ?" 

"Not  a  grain,"  said  Tom. 

"Why,  Tom,  you  must  know  I  know  the  most." 

"0,  Mas'r,  haven't  you  jest  read  how  He  hides  from  the 
wise  and  prudent,  and  reveals  unto  babes?  But  Mas'r 
wasn't  in  earnest,  for  sartin,  now?"  said  Tom,  anxiously. 

"No,  Tom,  I  was  not.    I  don't  disbelieve,  and  I  think 


206  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

there  is  reason  to  believe ;  and  still  I  don't.    It's  a  trouble- 
some bad  habit  I've  got,  Tom." 

"If  Mas'r  would  only  pray!" 

"How  do  you  know  I  don't,  Tom  ?" 

"DoesMas'r?" 

"I  would,  Tom,  if  there  was  anybody  there  when  I  pray; 
but  it's  all  speaking  unto  nothing,  when  I  do.  But  come, 
Tom,  you  pray  now,  and  show  me  how." 

Tom's  heart  was  full;  he  poured  it  out  in  prayer,  like 
waters  that  have  been  long  suppressed.  In  fact,  St.  Clare 
felt  himself  borne,  on  the  tide  of  his  faith  and  feeling, 
almost  to  the  gates  of  that  heaven  he  seemed  so  vividly 
to  conceive.  It  seemed  to  bring  him  nearer  to  Eva. 

"Thank  you,  my  boy,"  said  St.  Clare,  when  Tom  rose. 
"I  like  to  hear  you,  Tom ;  but  go,  now,  and  leave  me  alone ; ' 
some  other  time,  I'll  talk  more." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  207 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

REUNION. 

WEEK  after  week  glided  away  in  the  St.  Clare  man- 
sion, and  the  waves  of  life  settled  back  to  their 
usual  flow,  where  that  little  bark  had  gone 
down. 

Still  St.  Clare  was,  in  many  respects,  another  man.  He 
read  his  little  Eva's  Bible  seriously  and  honestly;  he 
thought  more  soberly  and  practically  of  his  relations  to 
his  servants, — enough  to  make  him  extremely  dissatisfied 
with  both  his  past  and  present  course;  and  one  thing  he 
did,  as  soon  as  he  could  bring  it  about,  and  that  was  to 
commence  the  legal  steps  necessary  to  Tom's  emancipation, 
which  was  to  be  perfected  as  soon  as  he  could  get  through 
the  necessary  formalities.  Meantime,  he  attached  himself 
to  Tom  more  and  more,  every  day. 

"Well,  Tom,"  said  St.  Clare,  the  day  after  he  had  com- 
menced the  legal  formalities  for  his  enfranchisement,  'Tin 
going  to  make  a  free  man  of  you; — so,  have  your  trunk 
packed,  and  get  ready  to  set  out  for  Kentuck." 

The  sudden  light  of  joy  that  shone  in  Tom's  face  as  he 
raised  his  hands  to  heaven,  his  emphatic  "Bless  the  Lord !" 
rather  discomposed  St.  Clare;  he  did  not  like  it  that  Tom 
should  be  so  ready  to  leave  him. 

14— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


208  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"You  haven't  had  such  very  bad  times  here,  that  you 
need  be  in  such  a  rapture,  Tom,"  he  said,  drily. 

"No,  no,  Mas'r!  'tan't  that, — it's  bein'  a  free  man! 
That's  what  I'm  joyin'  for." 

"Why,  Tom,  don't  you  think,  for  your  own  part,  you've 
been  better  off  than  to  be  free?" 

"No,  indeed,  Mas'r  St.  Clare,"  said  Tom,  with  a  flash 
of  energy.  "No,  indeed !" 

"Why,  Tom,  you  couldn't  possibly  have  earned,  by  your 
work,  such  clothes  and  such  living  as  I  have  given  you." 

"Knows  all  that,  Mas'r  St.  Clare;  Mas'r's  been  too  good; 
but,  Mas'r,  I'd  rather  have  poor  clothes,  poor  house,  poor 
everything,  and  have  'em  mine,  than  have  the  best,  and 
have  'em  any  man's  else, — I  had  so,  Mas'r;  I  think  it's 
natur,  Mas'r." 

"I  suppose  so,  Tom,  and  you'll  be  going  off  and  leaving 
me,  in  a  month  or  so,"  he  added,  rather  discontentedly. 
"Though  why  you  shouldn't  go,  no  mortal  knows,"  he  said, 
in  a  gayer  tone;  and,  getting  up,  he  began  to  walk  the 
floor. 

"Not  while  Mas'r  is  in  trouble,"  said  Tom.  "I'll  stay 
with  Mas'r  as  long  as  he  wants  me, — so  as  I  can  be  any 
use." 

"Not  while  I'm  in  trouble,  Tom?"  said  St.  Clare,  look- 
ing sadly  out  of  the  window "And  when  will  my 

trouble  be  over?" 

"When  Mas'r  St.  Clare's  a  Christian,"  said  Tom. 

"And  you  really  mean  to  stay  by  till  that  day  comes?" 
paid  St.  Clare,  half  smiling,  as  he  turned  from  the  window, 
and  laid  his  hand  on  Tom's  shoulder.  "Ah,  Tom,  you 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  SOD 

soft,  silly  boy!    I  won't  keep  you  till  that  day.    Go  home 
to  your  wife  and  children,  and  give  my  love  to  all." 

Marie  St.  Clare  felt  the  loss  of  Eva  as  deeply  as  she 
could  feel  anything.  Poor  old  Mammy,  in  particular, 
whose  heart,  severed  from  all  natural  domestic  ties,  had 
consoled  itself  with  this  one  beautiful  being,  was  almost 
heart-broken. 

Miss  Ophelia  felt  the  loss;  but,  in  her  good  and  honest 
heart,  it  bore'  fruit  unto  everlasting  life.  She  was  more 
softened,  more  gentle;  and,  though  equally  assiduous  in 
every  duty,  it  was  with  a  chastened  and  quiet  air,  as  one 
who  communed  with  her  own  heart  not  in  vain.  She  was 
more  diligent  in  teaching  Topsy, — taught  her  mainly  from 
the  Bible, — did  not  any  longer  shrink  from  her  touch,  or 
manifest  an  ill-repressed  disgust,  because  she  felt  none. 
Topsy  did  not  become  at  once  a  saint;  but  the  life  and 
death  of  Eva  did  work  a  marked  change  in  her. 

One  day,  when  Topsy  had  been  sent  for  by  Miss  Ophelia, 
she  came,  hastily  thrusting  something  into  her  bosom. 

"What  are  vou  doing  there,  you  limb?  You've  been 
stealing  something,  Fll  be  bound,"  said  the  imperious  little 
Rosa,  who  had  been  sent  to  call  her. 

"Yon  go  'long,  Miss  Rosa!"  said  Topsy,  pulling  from 
her;  "'tan't  none  o'  your  business!" 

"^"one  o'  your  sa'ce!"  said  Rosa.  "I  saw  you  hiding 
something, — I  know  yer  tricks."  The  clamor  and  confu- 
sion drew  Miss  Ophelia  and  St.  Clare  both  "to  the  spot. 

"She's  been  stealing!"  said  Rosa. 

"I  han't  neither!"  cried  Topsy,  sobbing  with  passion. 

"Give  me  that,  whatever  it  is !"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  firmly. 


210  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Topsy  hesitated;  but,  on  a  second  order,  pulled  out  of 
her  bosom  a  little  parcel  done  up  in  the  foot  of  one  of  her 
own  old  stockings. 

Miss  Ophelia  turned  it  out.  There  was  a  small  book, 
which  had  been  given  to  Topsy  by  Eva,  containing  a  single 
verse  of  Scripture,  arranged  for  every  day  in  the  year,  and 
in  a  paper  the  curl  of  hair  that  she  had  given  her  on  that 
memorable  day  when  she  had  taken  her  last  farewell. 

St.  Clare  was  a  good  deal  affected  at  the  sight  of  it;  the 
little  book  had  been  rolled  in  a  long  strip  of  black  crape, 
torn  from  the  funeral  weeds. 

"What  did  you  wrap  this  round  the  book  for?"  said  St. 
Clare,  holding  up  the  crape. 

"Cause, — cause, — cause  't  was  Miss  Eva.  0,  don't  take 
'em  away,  please !"  she  said ;  and,  sitting  flat  down  on  the 
floor,  and  putting  her  apron  over  her  head,  she  began  to 
sob  vehemently. 

St.  Clare  smiled;  but  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  as  he 
said,  "Come,  come, — don't  cry;  you  shall  have  them!" 
and,  putting  them  together,  he  threw  them  into  her  lap, 
and  drew  Miss  Ophelia  with  him  into  the  parlor. 

"The  child  has  improved  greatly,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 
"I  have  great  hopes  of  her;  but,  Augustine,"  she  said,  lay- 
ing her  hand  on  his  arm,  "one  thing  I  want  to  ask;  whose 
is  this  child  to  be  ? — yours  or  mine  ?" 

"Why,  I  gave  her  to  you,"  said  Augustine. 

"But  not  legally; — I  want  her  to  be  mine  legally,'* said 
Miss  Ophelia.  . 

"Well,  well,"  said  St.  Clare,  "I  will;"  and  he  sat  down, 
and  unfolded  a  newspaper  to  read. 

"But  I  want  it  done  now,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  211 

"What's  your  hurry?" 

"Because  now  is  the  only  time  there  ever  is  to  do  a 
thing  in,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "Come,  now,  here's  a  paper, 
pen,  and  ink;  just  write  a  paper." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  said  he.  "Can't  you  take 
my  word?" 

"I  want  to  make  sure  of  it,"  said  Miss  Ophelia.  "You 
may  die,  or  fail,  and  then  Topsy  be  hustled  off  to  auction, 
spite  of  all  I  can  do." 

"Well,  seeing  I'm  in  the  hands  of  a  Yankee,  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  concede  ;"  and  St.  Clare  rapidly  wrote 
off  a  deed  of  gift,  which,  as  he  was  well  versed  in  the 
forms  of  law,  he  could  easily  do,  and  signed  his  name  to 
it  in  sprawling  capitals,  concluding  by  a  tremendous 
flourish. 

"There,  isn't  that  black  and  white,  now,  Miss  Ver- 
mont?" he  said,  as  he  handed  it  to  her. 

"Good  bo}',"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  smiling.  "But  must  it 
not  be  witnessed?" 

"0,  bother ! — yes.  Here,"  he  said,  opening  the  door  into 
Marie's  apartment,  "Marie,  Cousin  wants  your  autograph; 
just  put  your  name  down  here." 

i  "What's  this?"  said  Marie,  as  she  ran  over  the  paper. 
"Ridiculous!  I  thought  Cousin  was  too  pious  for  such 
horrid  things,"  she  added,  as  she  carelessly  wrote  her 
name;  "but,  if  she  has  a  fancy  for  that  article,  I'm  sure 
she's  welcome." 

"There,  now,  she's  yours,  body  and  soul,"  said  St.  Clare, 
handing  the  paper. 

"No  more  mine  now  than  she  was  before,"  said  Miss 


212  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Ophelia.  "Nobody  but  God  has  a  right  to  give  her  to 
me;  but  I  can  protect  her  now.3' 

"Dear  little  Eva,— poor  child !"  said  St.  Clare,  "she  had 
set  her  little  simple  soul  on  a  good  work  for  me/' 

It  was  the  first  time  since  Eva's  death  that  he  had  ever 
said  as  many  words  as  these  of  her,  and  he  spoke  now 
evidently  repressing  very  strong  feeling. 

Miss  Ophelia  did  not  reply.  There  was  a  pause  of  some 
moments;  and  St.  Clare's  countenance  was  overcast  by  a 
sad,  dreamy  expression. 

"I  don't  know  what  makes  me  think  of  my  mother  so 
much,  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  have,  a  strange  kind  of  feel- 
ing, as  if  she  were  near  me.  I  keep  thinking  of  things 
she  used  to  say.  Strange,  what  brings  these  past  things 
so  vividly  back  to  us,  sometimes!" 

St.  Clare  walked  up  and  down  the  room  for  some  min- 
utes more,  and  then  said, 

"I  believe  I'll  go  down  street,  a  few  moments,  and  hear 
the  news  to-night." 

He  took  his  hat,  and  passed  out. 

Tom  followed  him  to  the  passage,  out  of  the  court,  and 
asked  if  he  should  attend  him. 

"No,  my  boy,"  said  St.  Clare.  "I  shall  be  back  in  an 
hour." 

Tom  sat  down  in  the  verandah.  It  was  a  beautiful 
moonlight  evening,  and  he  sat  watching  the  rising  and 
falling  spray  of  the  fountain,  and  listening  to  its  murmur. 
Tom  thought  of  his  home,  and  that  he  should  soon  be  a 
free  man,  and  able  to  return  to  it  at  will.  He  thought 
how  he  should  work  to  buy  his  wife  and  boys.  He  felt 
the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms  with  a  sort  of  joy,  as  he 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


213 


thought  they  would  soon  belong  to  himself,  and  how  much 
they  could  do  to  work  out  the  freedom  of  his  family. 
Then  he  thought  of  his  noble  young  master,  and,  ever 


"A  fatal  stab  in  the  side." 


second  to  that,  came  the  habitual  prayer  that  he  had  al- 
ways offered  for  him;  and  then  his  thoughts  passed  on  to 
the  beautiful  Eva,  whom  he  now  thought  of  among  the 


214  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

angels;  and  he  thought  till  he  almost  fancied  that  that 
bright  face  and  golden  hair  were  looking  upon  him,  out 
of  the  spray  of  the  fountain.  And,  so  musing,  he  fell 
asleep,  and  dreamed  he  saw  her  coming  bounding  towards 
him,  just  as  she  used  to  come,  with  a  wreath  of  jessamine 
in  her  hair,  her  cheeks  bright,  and  her  eyes  radiant  with 
delight;  but,  as  he  looked,  she  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
ground;  her  cheeks  wore  a  paler  hue, — her  eyes  had  a 
deep,  divine  radiance,  a  golden  halo  seemed  around  her 
head, — and  she  vanished  from  his  sight;  and  Tom  was 
awakened  by  a  loud  knocking,  and  a  sound  of  many  voices 
at  the  gate. 

He  hastened  to  undo  it ;  and,  with  smothered  voices  and 
heavy  tread,  came  several  men,  bringing  a  body,  wrapped 
in  a  cloak,  and  lying  on  a  shutter.  The  light  of  the  lamp 
fell  full  on  the  face;  and  Tom  gave  a  wild  cry  of  amaze- 
ment and  despair,  that  rung  through  all  the  galleries,  as 
the  men  advanced,  with  their  burden,  to  the  open  parlor 
door,  where  Miss  Ophelia  still  sat  knitting. 

St.  Clare  had  turned  into  a  cafe,  to  look  over  an  evening 
paper.  As  he  was  reading,  an  affray  arose  between  two 
gentlemen  in  the  room,  who  were  both  partially  intoxi- 
cated. St.  Clare  and  one  or  two  others  made  an  effort  to 
separate  them,  and  St.  Clare  received  a  fatal  stab  in  the 
side  with  a  bowie-knife,  which  he  was  attempting  to  wre«t 
from  one  of  them. 

The  house  was  full  of  cries  and  lamentations,  shrieks 
and  screams ;  servants  frantically  tearing  their  hair,  throw- 
ing themselves  on  the  ground,  or  running  distractedly 
about,  lamenting.  Tom  and  Miss  Ophelia  alone  seemed 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  215 

to  have  any  presence  of  mind;  for  Marie  was  in  strong 
hysteric  convulsions. 

The  physician  now  arrived,  and  made  his  examination, 
but  it  was  evident,  from  the  expression  of  his  face,  that 
there  was  no  hope. 

"Now,"  said  the  physician,  "we  must  turn  all  these 
creatures  out;  all  depends  on  his  being  kept  quiet." 

St.  Clare  could  say  but  little ;  he  lay  with  his  eyes  shut, 
but  it  was  evident  that  he  wrestled  with  bitter  thoughts. 
After  a  while,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Tom's,  who  was  kneel- 
ing beside  him,  and  said,  "Tom !  poor  fellow  I" 

"What,  Mas'r?"  said  Tom,  earnestly. 

"I  am  dying!"  said  St.  Clare,  pressing  his  hand; 
"pray!" 

And  Tom  did  pray,  with  all  his  mind  and  strength,  for 
the  soul  that  was  passing, — the  soul  that  seemed  looking 
so  steadily  and  mournfully  from  those  large,  melancholy 
blue  eyes.  It  was  literally  prayer  offered  with  strong 
crying  and  tears. 

When  Tom  ceased  to  speak,  St.  Clare  reached  out  and 
took  his  hand,  looking  earnestly  at  him,  but  saying  noth- 
ing. He  closed  his  eyes,  but  still  retained  his  hold;  for, 
in  the  gates  of  eternity,  the  black  hand  and  the  white 
hold  each  other  with  an  equal  clasp.  He  murmured  softly 
to  himself  words  that  he  had  been  singing  during  the 
evening. 

"His  mind  is  wandering/'  said  the  doctor. 

"No!  it  is  coming  Home,  at  last!"  said  St.  Clare,  ener- 
getically; "at  last!  at  last!" 

The  effort  of  speaking  exhausted  him.  The  sinking 
paleness  of  death  fell  on  him;  but  with  it  there  fell,  as 


216  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

if  shed  from  the  wings  of  some  pitying  spirit,  a  beautiful 
expression  of  peace,  like  that  of  a  wearied  child  who 
sleeps.  So  he  lay  for  a  few  moments.  Just  before  the 
spirit  parted,  he  opened  his  eyes,  with  a  sudden  light,  as 
of  joy  and  recognition,  and  said.  "Mother!"  and  then  he 
was  gone! 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  UNPROTECTED. 

IT  was  about  a  fortnight  after  the  funeral,  that  Miss 
Ophelia,  busied  one  day  in  her  apartment,  heard  a 
gentle  tap  at  the  door.    She  opened  it,  and  there 
stood  Rosa. 

"0,  Miss  Feely,"  she  said,  falling  on  her  knees,  and 
catching  the  skirt  of  her  "dress,  "do,  do  go  to  Miss  Marie 
for  me!  do  plead  for  me!  She's  goin'  to  send  me  out  to 
be  whipped, — look  there !"  And  she  handed  to  Miss 
Ophelia  a  paper. 

It  was  an  order,  written  in  Marie's  delicate  Italian 
hand,  to  the  master  of  a  whipping  establishment,  to  give 
the  bearer  fifteen  lashes. 

"What  have  you  been  doing?"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 
"You  know,  Miss  Feely,  I've  got  such  a  bad  temper; 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


217 


it's  very  bad  of  me.  I  was  trying  on  Miss  Marie's  dress, 
and  she  slapped  my  face :  and  I  spoke  out  before  I  thought, 
and  was  saucy;  and  she  said  that  she'd  bring  me  down, 
and  have  me  know,  once  for  all,  that  I  wasn't  going  to  be 


"Do  plead  for  me." 

BO  topping  as  I  had  been;  and  she  wrote  this,  and  says  I 
shall  carry  it.  I'd  rather  she'd  kill  me,  right  out." ' 

Miss  Ophelia  stood  considering  with  the  paper  in  her 
hand. 

"You  see,  Miss  Feely,"  said  Eosa,  "I  don't  mind  the 
whipping  so  much,  if  Miss  Marie  or  you  was  to  do  it;  but, 


218  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

to  be  sent  to  a  man !  and  such  a  horrid  man, — the  shame 
of  it,  Miss.Feely!" 

All  the  honest  blood  of  womanhood,  the  strong  New 
England  blood  of  liberty,  flushed  to  Miss  Ophelia's  cheeks, 
but  she  mastered  herself,  and,  crushing  the  paper  firmly 
in  her  hand,  she  merely  said  to  Eosa, 

"Sit  down,  child,  while  I  go  to  your  mistress." 

She  found  Marie  sitting  up  in  her  easy-chair. 

"I  came,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  "to  speak  with  you  about 
poor  Eosa." 

"Well,  what  about  her?" 

"She  is  very  sorry  for  her  fault." 

"She  is,  is  she  ?  She'll  be  sorrier,  before  I've  done  with 
her!  I've  endured  that  child's  impudence  long  enough; 
and  now  I'll  bring  her  down, — I'll  make  her  lie  in  the 
dust!" 

"But,  Cousin,  consider  that,  if  you  destroy  delicacy  and 
a  sense  of  shame  in  a  young  girl,  you  deprave  her  very 
fast." 

"Delicacy!"  said  Marie,  with  a  scornful  laugh, — "a  fine 
word  for  such  as  she!  I'll  teach  her,  with  all  her  airs, 
that  she's  no  better  than  the  raggedest  black  wench  that 
walks  the  streets!  She'll  take  no  more  airs  with  me!" 

It  was  hard  to  go  back  and  tell  Eosa  that  she  could  do 
nothing  for  her;  and,  shortly  after,  one  of  the  man-serv- 
ants came  to  say  that  her  mistress  had  ordered  him  to 
take  Eosa  with  him  to  the  whipping  house,  whither  she 
was  hurrier1 ,  in  spite  of  her  tears  and  entreaties. 

A  few  d.  tys  after,  Tom  was  standing  musing  by  the 
balconies,  when  he  was  joined  by  Adolph. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  219 

"Do  ye  know,  Tom,  that  we've  all  got  to  be  sold  ?"  said 
Adolph. 

"How  did  you  hear  that?"  said  Tom. 

"I  hid  myself  behind  the  curtains  when  Missis  was  talk* 
ing  with  the  lawyer.  In  a  few  days  we  shall  all  be  sent 
off  to  auction,  Tom." 

"The  Lord's  will  be  done!"  said  Tom,  folding  his  arms 
and  sighing  heavily. 

He  sought  Miss  Ophelia,  who,  ever  since  Eva's  death, 
had  treated  him  with  marked  and  respectful  kindness. 

"Miss  Feely,"  he  said,  "Mas'r  St.  Clare  promised  me  my 
freedom.  He  told  me  that  he  had  begun  to  take  it  out  for 
me;  and  now,  perhaps,  if  Miss  Feely  would  be  good 
enough  to  speak  about  it  to  Missis,  she  would  feel  like 
goin'  on  with  it,  as  it  was  Mas'r  St.  Clare's  wish." 

"I'll  speak  for  you,  Tom,  and  do  my  best,"  said  Miss 
Ophelia;  but,  if  it  depends  on  Mrs.  St.  Clare,  I  can't  hope 
much  for  you; — nevertheless,  I  will  try." 

She  found  Marie  reclining  at  length  upon  a  lounge, 
supporting  herself  on  one  elbow  by  pillows,  while  Jane, 
who  had  been  out  shopping,  was  displaying  before  her  cer- 
tain samples  of  thin  black  stuffs. 

"That  will  do,"  said  Marie,  selecting  one ;  "only  I'm  not 
sure  about  its  being  properly  mourning." 

"There's  one  thing  I  wanted  to  speak  with  you  about," 
said  Miss  Ophelia.  "Augustine  promised  Tom  his  liberty, 
and  began  the  legal  forms  necessary  to  it.  I  hope  you 
will  use  your  influence  to  have  it  perfected." 

"Indeed,  I  shall  do  no  such  thing!"  said  Marie,  sharply. 
"Tom  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  servants  on  the  place, — • 


220  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

it  couldn't  be  afforded,  any  way.  Besides  what  does  he 
want  of  liberty  ?  He's  a  great  deal  better  off  as  he  is." 

"But  he  does  desire  it,  very  earnestly,  and  his  master 
promised  it,"  said  Miss  Ophelia. 

"I  dare  say  he  does  want  it,"  said  Marie.  "Keep  a 
negro  under  the  care  of  a  master,  and  he  does  well  enough, 
and  is  respectable;  but  set  them  free,  and  they  get  lazy, 
and  won't  work,  and  take  to  drinking,  and  go  all  down  co 
be  mean,  worthless  fellows.  I've  seen  it  tried,  hundreds 
of  times." 

"But  Tom  is  so  steady,  industrious,  and  pious." 

"0,  you  needn't  tell  me !  I've  seen  a  hundred  like  him. 
He'll  do  very  well,  as  long  as  he's  taken  care  of, — that's 
all." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Ophelia,  energetically,  "I  know  it  was 
one  of  the  last  wishes  of  your  husband  that  Tom  should 
have  his  liberty;  it  was  one  of  the  promises  that  he  made 
to  dear  little  Eva  on  her  death-bed,  and  I  should  not 
think  you  would  feel  at  liberty  to  disregard  it." 

Marie  had  her  face  covered  with  her  handkerchief  at 
this  appeal,  and  began  sobbing  and  using  her  smelling- 
bottle,  with  great  vehemence. 

"Everybody  goes  against  me!"  she  said.  "It's  so  hard, 
that  when  I  had  only  one  daughter,  she  should  have  been 
taken! — and  when  I  had  a  husband  that  just  exactly 
suited  me, — and  I'm  so  hard  to  be  suited! — he  should  be 
taken!  And  you  seem  to  have  so  little  feeling  for  me, 
and  keep  bringing  it  up  to  me  so  carelessly, — when  you 
know  how  it  overcomes  me!"  And  Marie  sobbed,  and 
gasped  for  breath,  and  called  Mammy  to  open  the  window, 
and  to  bring  her  the  camphor-bottle,  and  to  bathe  her 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  221 

head,  and  unhook  her  dress.  And,  in  the  general  confu- 
sion that  ensued,  Miss  Ophelia  made  her  escape  to  her 
apartment. 

She  saw,  at  once,  that  it  would  do  no  good  to  say  any- 
thing more;  for  Marie  had  an  indefinite  capacity  for  hys- 
teric fits,  but  she  did  the  next  "best  thing  she  could  for 
Tom, — she  wrote  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Shelby  for  him,  stating 
his  troubles,  and  urging  them  to  send  to  his  relief. 

The  next  day,  Tom  and  Adolph,  and  some  half  a  dozen 
other  servants,  were  marched  down  to  a  slave  warehouse, 
to  await  the  convenience  of  the  trader,  who  was  going  to 
make  up  a  lot  for  auction, 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE  SLAVE  WAREHOUSE. 

IT  was  a  day  or  two  after  the  conversation  between 
Marie  and  Miss  Ophelia,  that  Tom,  Adolph,  and 
about  half  a  dozen  others  of  the  St.  Clare  estate, 
were  turned  over  to  the  loving  kindness  of  Mr.  Skeggs, 
the  keeper  of  a  depot  on street,  to  await  the  auc- 
tion, next  day. 

Tom  had  with  him  quite  a  sizable  trunk  full  of  clothing, 
as  had  most  others  of  them.    They  were  ushered,  for  the 


222  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

night,  into  a  long  room,  where  many  other  men,  of  all 
ages,  sizes,  and  shades  of  complexion,  were  assembled. 

This  was  the  men's  sleeping  room,  and  the  reader  may 
be  curious  to  take  a  peep  at  the  corresponding  apartment 
allotted  to  the  women.  Stretched  out  in  various  attitudes 
over  the  floor,  he  may  see  numberless  sleeping  forms  of 
every  shade  of  complexion,  from  the  purest  ebony  to 
white,  and  of  all  years,  from  childhood  to  old  age,  lying 
now  asleep.  Here  is  a  fine  bright  girl,  of  ten  years,  whose 
mother  was  sold  only  yesterday,  and  who  to-night  cried 
herself  to  sleep  when  nobody  was  looking  at  her.  Here, 
a  worn  old  negress,  whose  thin  arms  and  callous  fingers 
tell  of  hard  toil,  waiting  to  be  sold  to-morrow,  as  a  cast- 
off  article,  for  what  can  be  got  for  her;  and  some  forty  or 
fifty  others,  with  heads  variously  enveloped  in  blankets 
or  articles  of  clothing,  lie  stretched  around  them.  But, 
in  a  corner,  sitting  apart  from  the  rest,  are  two  females 
of  a  more  interesting  appearance  than  common.  One  of 
these  is  a  respectably-dressed  mulatto  woman  between 
forty  and  fifty,  with  soft  eyes  and  a  gentle  and  pleasing 
physiognomy.  By  her  side,  and  nestling  close  to  her,  is  a 
young  girl  of  fifteen, — her  daughter.  She  is  a  quadroon, 
as  may  be  seen  from  her  fair  complexion,  though  her  like- 
ness to  her  mother  is  quite  discernible.  She  has  the  same 
soft,  dark  eye,  with  longer  lashes,  and  her  curling  hair 
is  of  a  luxuriant  brown.  These  two  are  to  be  sold  to- 
morrow, in  the  same  lot  with  the  St.  Clare  servants;  and 
the  gentleman  to  whom  they  belong,  and  to  whom  the 
money  for  their  sale  is  to  be  transmitted,  is  a  member  of 
a  Christian  church  in  New  York,  who  will  receive  the 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


225 


money,  and  go  thereafter  to  the  sacrament  of  his  Lord  and 
theirs,  and  think  no  more  of  it. 

These  two,  whom  we  shall  call  Susan  and  Emmeline, 
had  been  the  personal  attendants  of  an  amiable  and  pious 
lady  of  New  Orleans,  by  whom  they  had  been  carefully 


" All  ages,   sizes,   and  shades  of  complexion." 

and  piously  instructed  and  trained,  and  their  lot  had  been 
as  happy  an  one  as  in  their  condition  it  was  possible  to  bo. 
But  the  only  son  of  their  protectress  had  the  management 
of  her  property ;  and,  by  carelessness  and  extravagance  in- 
volved it  to  a  large  amount,  and  at  last  failed.  Susan 

IS— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


•224  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

and  Emmeline  were  attached  by  his  creditors  and  sent  to 
the  depot  to  await  a  general  auction  on  the  following 
morning. 

"Mother,  just  lay  your  head  on  my  lap,  and  see  if  you 
can't  sleep  a  little,"  says  the  girl,  trying  to  appear  calm. 

"I  haven't  any  heart  to  sleep,  Em;  I  can't;  it's  the  last 
night  we  may  be  together!" 

"0,  mother,  don't  say  so!  perhaps  we  shall  get  sold  to- 
gether,— who  knows?" 

"If  't  was  anybody's  else  case,  I  should  say  so,  too,  Em," 
said  the  woman;  "but  I'm  so  feard  of  losin'  you  that  I 
don't  see  anything  but  the  danger." 

"Why,  mother,  the  man  said  we  were  both  likely,  and 
would  sell  well." 

Susan  remembered  the  man's  looks  and  words.  With 
a  deadly  sickness  at  her  heart,  she  remembered  how  he 
had  looked  at  Emmeline's  hands,  and  lifted  up  her  curly 
hair,  and  pronounced  her  a  first-rate  article. 

"Mother,  I  think  we  might  do  first  rate,  if  you  could 
get  a  place  as  cook,  and  I  as  chambermaid  or  seamstress, 
in  some  family.  I  dare  say  we  shall.  Let's  both  look  as 
bright  and  lively  as  we  can,  and  tell  all  we  can  do,  and 
perhaps  we  shall,"  said  Emmeline. 

"I  want  you  to  brush  your  hair  all  back  straight  to- 
morrow," said  Susan. 

"What  for,  mother?  I  don't  look  near  so  well,  that 
way." 

"Yes,  but  you'll  sell  better  so." 

"I  don't  see  why !"  said  the  child. 

"Respectable  families  would  be  more  apt  to  buy  you, 
if  they  saw  you  looked  plain  and  decent,  as  if  you  wasn't 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  225 

trying  to  look  handsome.    I  know  their  ways  better'n  you 
do/'  said  Susan. 

"Well,  mother,  then  I  will." 

But  now  it  is  morning,  and  everybody  is  astir;  and  the 


"Where's  your  curls,  gal?" 

Worthy  Mr.  Skeggs  is  busy  and  bright,  for  a  lot  of  goods 
is  to  be  fitted  out  for  auction.  There  is  a  brisk  look-out 
on  the  toilet;  injunctions  passed  around  to  every  one  to 
put  on  their  best  face  and  be  spry;  and  now  all  are  ar- 


226  Uncle  Toin's  Cabin;   or 

ranged  in  a  circle    for  a    last    review,    before    they  are 
marched  up  to  the  Bourse. 

Mr.  Skeggs,  with  his  palmetto  hat  on  and  his  cigar  in 
his  'mouth,  walks  around  to  put  farewell  touches  on  his 
wares. 

"How's  this?"  he  said,  stepping  in  front  of  Susan  and 
Emmeline.  "Where's  your  curls,  gal?" 

The  girl  looked  timidly  at  her  mother,  who,  with  the 
smooth  adroitness  common  among  her  class,  answers, 

"I  was  telling  her,  last  night,  to  put  up  her  hair  smooth 
and  neat,  and  not  havin'  it  flying  about  in  curls;  looks 
more  respectable  so." 

"Bother!"  said  the  man,  peremptorily,  turning  to  the 
girl;  "you  go  right  along,  and  curl  yourself  real  smart!" 
He  added,  giving  a  crack  to  a  rattan  he  held  in  his  hand, 
"And  be  back  in  quick  time,  too!" 

"You  go  and  help  her,"  he  added,  to  the  mother.  "Them 
curls  may  make  a  hundred  dollars  difference  in  the  sale  of 
her." 

A  little  before  the  sale  commenced,  a  short,  broad, 
muscular  man  elbowed  his  way  through  the  crowd.  His 
round,  bullet  head,  large,  light-gray  eyes,  with  their 
shaggy,  sandy  eye-brows,  and  stiff,  wiry,  sun-burned  hair, 
were  rather  unprepossessing  items,  it  is  to  be  confessed; 
his  large,  coarse  mouth  was  distended  with  tobacco,  the 
juice  of  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  ejected  from  him 
with  great  decision  and  explosive  force;  his  hands  were 
immensely  large,  hairy,  sun-burned,  freckled,  and  very 
dirty,  and  garnished  with  long  nails,  in  a  very  foul  condi- 
tion. This  man  proceeded  to  a  very  free  personal  exam- 
ination of  the  lot.  He  seized  Tom  by  the  jaw,  and  pulled 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  227 

open  his  mouth  to  inspect  his  teeth;  made  him  strip  up 
his  sleeve,  to  show  his  muscle;  turned  him  round,  made 
him  jump  and  spring  to  show  his  paces. 

"Where  was  you  raised  ?"  said  he. 

"In  Kent uck,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom. 

"What  have  you  done  ?" 

"Had  care  of  MasVs  farm,"  said  Tom. 

"Likely  story!"  said  the  other,  shortly,  as  he  passed  on. 
He  paused  a  moment  before  Dolph;  then  spitting  a  dis- 
charge of  tohacco  juice  on  his  well-blacked  boots,  and 
giving  a  contemptuous  umph,  he  walked  on.  Again  he 
stopped  before  Susan  and  Emmeline.  He  put  out  his 
heavy  dirty  hand,  and  drew  the  girl  towards  him;  passed 
it  over  her  neck  and  bust,  felt  her  arms,  looked  at  her 
teeth,  and  then  pushed  her  back  against  her  mother.  The 
girl  was  frightened,  and  began  to  cry. 

"Stop  that,  you  minx!"  said  the  salesman;  "no  whim- 
pering here, — the  sale  is  going  to  begin." 

Adolph  was  knocked  off,  at  a  good  sum,  to  a  young 
gentleman  who  had  previously  stated  his  intention  of 
buying  him;  and  the  other  servants  of  the  St.  Clare  lot 
went  to  various  bidders. 

"Now,  up  with  you,  boy!  d*  ye  hear?"  said  the  auc- 
tioneer to  Tom. 

Tom  stepped  upon  the  block,  gave  a  few  anxious  looks 
round;  all  seemed  mingled  in  a  common,  indistinct  noise, 
— the  clatter  of  the  salesman  crying  off  his  qualifications 
in  French  and  English,  the  quick  fire  of  French  and  Eng- 
lish bids;  and  almost  in  a  moment  came  the  final  thump 
of  the  hammer,  and  the  clear  ring  on  the  last  syllable  of 


228  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

the  word  "dollars/'  as  the  auctioneer  announced  his  price, 
and  Tom  was  made  over. — He  had  a  master! 

The  bidding  went  on, — rattling,  clattering,  now  French, 
now  English.  Down  goes  the  hammer  again, — Susan  is 
sold.  She  looks  with  agony  in  the  face  of  the  man  who 
has  bought  her, — a  respectable  middle-aged  man,  of  benev- 
olent countenance. 

"0,  Mas'r,  please  do  buy  my  daughter!" 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I'm  afraid  I  can't  afford  it !"  said  the 
gentleman,  looking,  with  painful  interest,  as  the  young 
girl  mounted  the  block,  and  looked  around  her  with  a 
frightened  and  timid  glance. 

The  blood  flushes  painfully  in  her  otherwise  colorless 
cheek,  her  eye  has  a  feverish  fire,  and  her  mother  groans 
to  see  that  she  looks  more  beautiful  than  she  ever  saw  her 
before.  The  auctioneer  sees  his  advantage,  and  expatiates 
volubly  in  mingled  French  and  English,  and  bids  rise  in 
rapid  succession. 

"I'll  do  anything  in  reason,"  said  the  benevolent-looking 
gentleman,  pressing  in  and  joining  with  the  bids.  In  a  few 
moments  they  have  run  beyond  his  purse.  He  is  silent; 
the  auctioneer  grows  warmer;  but  bids  gradually  drop  off. 
It  lies  now  between  an  aristocratic  old  citizen  and  our 
bullet-headed  acquaintance.  The  citizen  bids  for  a  few 
turns,  contemptuously  measuring  his  opponent;  but  the 
bullet-head  has  the  advantage  over  him,  both  in  obstinacy 
and  concealed  length  of  purse,  and  the  controversy  lasts 
but  a  moment;  the  hammer  falls, — he  has  got  the  girl, 
body  and  soul,  unless  God  help  her! 

Her  master  is  Mr.  Legree,  who  owns  a  cotton  plantation 
on  the  Red  Kiver.  She  is  pushed  along  into  the  same  lot 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


229 


with  Tom  and  two  other  men,  and  goes  off,  weeping  as  she 
goes. 


"The  auctioneer  grows  warmer.' 


230  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

THE  MIDDLE  PASSAGE. 

ON"  the  lower  part  of  a  small,  mean  boat,  on  the  Ked 
Eiver,  Tom  sat, — chains  on  his  wrists,  chains  on 
his  feet,  and  a  weight  heavier  than  chains  lay  on 
his  heart. 

Mr.  Simon  Legree,  Tom's  master,  had  purchased  slaves 
at  one  place  and  another,  in  Xew  Orleans,  to  the  number 
of  eight,  and  driven  them,  handcuffed,  in  couples  of  two 
and  two,  down  to  the  good  steamer  Pirate,  which  lay  at  the 
levee,  ready  for  a  trip  up  the  Red  Eiver. 

Stopping  opposite  to  Tom,  who  had  been  attired  for 
sale  in  his  best  broadcloth  suit,  with  well-starched  linen 
and  shining  boots,  he  briefly  said: 

"Stand  up." 

Tom  stood  up. 

"Take  off  that  stock !"  and,  as  Tom,  encumbered  by  his 
fetters,  proceeded  to  do  it,  he  assisted  him,  by  pulling  it, 
with  no  gentle  hand,  from  his  neck,  and  putting  it  in  his 
pocket. 

Legree  now  turned  to  Tom's  trunk,  which,  previous  to 
this  he  had  been  ransacking,  and,  taking  from  it  a  pair  of 
old  pantaloons  and  a  dilapidated  coat,  which  Tom  had 
been  wont  to  put  on  abou{  his  stable-work,  he  said,  liber- 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  231 

ating  Tom's  hands  from  the  handcuffs,  and  pointing  to  a 
recess  in  among  the  boxes, 

"You  go  there,,  and  put  these  on." 

Tom  obeyed,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned. 

"Take  off  your  boots,"  said  Mr.  Legree. 

Tom  did  so. 

"There,"  said  the  former,  throwing  him  a  pair  of  coarse 
stout  shoes,  such  as  were  common  among  the  slaves,  "put 
these  on." 

In  Tom's  hurried  exchange,  he  had  not  forgotten  to 
transfer  his  cherished  Bible  to  his  pocket.  It  was  well  he 
did  so;  for  Mr.  Legree,  having  refitted  Tom's  handcuffs, 
proceeded  deliberately  to  investigate  the  contents  of  his 
pockets.  He  drew  out  a  silk  handkerchief,  and  put  it  into 
his  own  pocket.  Several  little  trifles,  which  Tom  had 
treasured,  chiefly  because  they  had  amused  Eva,  he  looked 
upon  with  a  contemptuous  grunt,  and  tossed  them  over  his 
shoulder  into  the  river. 

Tom's  Methodist  hymn-book,  which,  in  his  hurry,  he 
had  forgotten,  he  now  held  up  and  turned  over. 

"Humph !  pious  to  be  sure.  So,  what's  yer  name, — you 
belong  to  the  church,  eh?" 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  firmly. 

"Well,  I'll  soon  have  that  out  of  you.  I  have  none  o* 
yer  bawling,  praying,  singing  niggers  on  my  place;  so  re- 
member. Now,  mind  yourself,"  he  said,  with  a  stamp 
and  a  fierce  glance  of  his  gray  eye,  directed  at  Tom,  "I'm 
your  church  now!  You  understand, — you've  got  to  be  as 
I  say." 

Simon  next  walked  up  to  the  remainder  of  his  property. 

"I  say,  all  on  ye,"  he  said,  retreating  a  pace  or  two 


232 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


back,  'look  at  me, — look  at  me, — look  me  right  in  the 
~eye, — straight,  now!"  said  he,  stamping  his  foot  at  every 
pause. 


"D'ye  see  this  fist?" 


Every  eye  was  directed  to  the  glaring  greenish-gray  eye 
of  Simon. 

"Now,"  said  he,  doubling  his  great,  heavy  fist,  "d'  ye 
see  this  fist?  Heft  it!"  he  said,  bringing  it  down  on  Tom's 
hand.  <cLook  at  these  yer  hones !  Well,  I  tell  ye  thss  ycr 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  233 

fist  has  got  as  hard  as  iron  knocking  down  niggers.  I 
never  see  the  nigger,  yet,  I  couldn't  bring  down  with  one 
crack,"  said  he,  bringing  his  fist  down  so  near  to  the  face 
of  Tom  that  he  winked  and  drew  back.  "I  don't  keep 
none  o'  yer  cussed  overseers;  I  does  my  own  overseeing; 
and  I  tell  you  things  is  seen  to.  You's  every  one  on  ye 
got  to  toe  the  mark,  I  tell  ye;  quick, — straight, — the  mo- 
ment I  speak.  That's  the  way  to  keep  in  with  me.  Ye 
won't  find  no  soft  spot  in  me,  nowhere.  So,  now,  mind 
yerselves,  for  I  don't  show  no  mercy!" 

Then  Simon  turned  on  his  heel,  and  marched  up  to  the 
bar  of  the  boat  for  a  dram. 

"That's  the  way  I  begin  with  my  niggers,"  he  said,  to 
a  gentlemanly  man,  who  had  stood  by  him  during  his 
speech.  "It's  my  system  to  begin  strong, — just  let  7em 
know  what  to  expect." 

"How  long  do  they  generally  last?"  said  the  stranger. 

"Well,  donno;  'cordin'  as  their  constitution  is.  Stout 
fellers  last  six  or  seven  years;  trashy  ones  gets  worked  up 
in  two  or  three.  I  just  put  'em  straight  through,  sick  or 
well.  When  one  nigger's  dead,  I  buy  another;  and  I  find 
it  comes  cheaper  and  easier,  every  way." 


234  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

DARK  PLACES. 

TRAILING  wearily  behind  a  rude  wagon,  and  over  a 
ruder  road,  Tom  and  his  associates  faced  onward. 
In  the  wagon  was  seated  Simon  Legree ;  Em  and  a 
mulatto  ^oman,  fettered  together,  were  stowed  away  with 
some  baggage  in  the  back  part  of  it,  and  the  whole  com- 
pany were  seeking  Legree's  plantation,  which  lay  a  good 
distance  off. 

Simon  rode  on,  however,  apparently  well  pleased,  occa- 
sionally pulling  away  at  a  flask  of  spirit,  which  he  kept  in 
his  pocket. 

The  wagon  rolled  up  a  weedy  gravel  walk,  under  a  noble 
avenue  of  China  trees,  and  stopped  in  front  of  a  house 
which  had  been  large  and  handsome,  but  now  looked  deso- 
late and  uncomfortable. 

Bits  of  board,  straw,  old  decayed  barrels  and  boxes, 
garnished  the  ground  in  all  directions;  and  three  or  four 
ferocious-looking  dogs,  roused  by  the  sound  of  the  wagon- 
wheels,  came  tearing  out,  and  were  with  difficulty  re- 
strained from  laying  hold  of  Tom  and  his  companions,  by 
the  effort  of  the  ragged  servants  who  came  after  them, 
"Ye  see  what  ye'd  get!"  said  Legree,  caressing  the  dogs 
with  grim  satisfaction.  "Ye  see  what  ye'd  get,  if  ye  try 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


235 


to  run  off.  These  yer  dogs  has  been  raised  to  track  nig- 
gers; and  they'd  jest  as  soon  chaw  one  on  ye  up  as  eat 
their  supper.  So,  mind  yerself!  How  now,  Sambo!"  he 
said,  to  a  ragged  fellow,  without  any  brim  to  his  hat,  who 


"Trailing  wearily  behind  a  rude  wagon." 

was  officious  in  his  attentions.     "How  have'  things  been 
going?" 

"Fust  rate,  Mas'r." 

"Quimbo,"  said  Legree  to  another,   who   was   making 


236  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

zealous  demonstrations  to  attract  his  attention,  "ye 
minded  what  I  telled  ye  ?" 

"Guess  I  did,  didn't  I?" 

These  two  colored  men  were  the  two  principal  hands 
on  the  plantation.  Legree  had  trained  them  in  savage- 
ness  and  brutality  as  systematically  as  he  had  his  bull- 
dogs; and,  by  long  practice  in  hardness  and  cruelty, 
brought  their  whole  nature  to  about  the  same  range  of 
capacities.  Sambo  and  Quimbo  cordially  hated  each 
other;  the  plantation  hands,  one  and  all,  cordially  hated 
them;  and,  by  playing  off  one  against  another,  he  was 
pretty  sure,  through  one  or  the  other  of  the  three  parties, 
to  get  informed  of  whatever  was  on  foot  in  the  place. 

"Here,  you  Sambo,"  said  Legree,  "take  these  yer  boys 
down  to  the  quarters;  and  here's  a  gal  I've  got  for  you," 
said  he,  as  he  separated  the  mulatto  woman  from  Emme- 
line,  and  pushed  her  towards  him; — "I  promised  to  bring 
•you  one,  you  know." 

The  woman  gave  a  sudden  start,  and,  drawing  back,  said 
suddenly. 

"0,  Mas'r!   I  left  my  old  man  in  ISTew  Orleans." 

"What  of  that?  None  o'  your  words, — go  long!"  said 
Legree,  raising  his  whip. 

"Come,  mistress,"  he  said  to  Emmeline,  "you  go  in  here 
with  me." 

A  dark,  wild  face  was  seen,  for  a  moment,  to  glance  at 
the  window  of  the  house ;  and,  as  Legree  opened  the  door, 
a  female  voice  said  something,  in  a  quick,  imperative  tone. 
Tom,  who  was  looking,  with  anxious  interest,  after  Emme- 
line, as  she  went  in,  noticed  this,  and  heard  Legree  answer, 


"Ye  see  what  ye'd  get!" 


238  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

angrily,  "You  may  hold  your  tongue!  I'll  do  as  I  please, 
for  all  you!" 

Tom  heard  no  more;  for  he  was  soon  following  Sambo 
to  the  quarters.  The  quarters  was  a  little  sort  of  street 
of  rude  shanties,  in  a  row,  in  a  part  of  the  plantation,  far 
off  from  the  house.  They  had  a  forlorn,  brutal,  forsaken  air. 

"Which  of  these  will  be  mine  ?"  said  he,  to  Sambo,  sub- 
missively. 

"Dunno;  ken  turn  in  here,  I  spose,"  said  Sambo;  "spects 
thar's  room  for  another  thar;  thar's  a  pretty  smart  heap 
o'  niggers  to  each  on  'em,  now;  sure,  I  dunno  what  I's  to 
do  with  more." 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  weary  occupants  of 
the  shanties  came  flocking  home,  and  began  to  contend 
for  the  hand-mills  where  their  morsel  of  hard  corn  was  yet 
to  be  ground  into  meal,  to  fit  it  for  the  cake  that  was  to 
constitute  their  only  supper.  Tom  looked  in  vain  among 
the  gang,  as  they  poured  along,  for  companionable  faces. 
He  saw  only  sullen,  scowling,  imbruted  men,  and  feeble, 
discouraged  women. 

Tom  was  hungry  with  his  day's  journey,  and  almost 
faint  for  want  of  food. 

"Thar,  yo!"  said  Quimbo,  throwing  down  a  coarse  bag, 
which  contained  a  peck  of  corn;  "thar,  nigger,  grab,  take 
car  on  't, — yo  won't  get  no  more,  dis  yer  week." 

Tom  waited  till  a  late  hour,  to  get  a  place  at  the  mills ; 
and  then,  moved  by  the  utter  weariness  of  two  women, 
whom  he  saw  trying  to  grind  their  corn  there,  he  ground 
for  them,  put  together  the  decaying  brands  of  the  fire, 
where  many  had  baked  cakes  before  them,  and  then  went 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  239 

about  getting  his  own  supper.  It  was  a  new  kind  of  work 
there, — a  deed  of  charity,  small  as  it  was;  but  it  woke  an 
answering  touch  in  their  hearts, — an  expression  of  wo- 
manly kindness  came  over  their  hard  faces;  they  mixed 
his  cake  for  him,  and  tended  its  baking;  and  Tom  sat 
down  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  and  drew  out  his  Bible, — 
for  he  had  need  of  comfort. 

"What's  that  ?"  said  one  of  the  women. 

"Why,  the  Bible." 

"Laws  a  me!  what's  dat?"  said  another  woman. 

"Do  tell !  you  never  hearn  on  't  ?"  said  the  other  woman. 
"I  used  to  bar  Missis  a  readin'  on  't,  sometimes,  in  Ken- 
tuck;  but,  laws  o'  me!  we  don't  bar  nothin'  here  but 
crackin'  and  swarm'." 

"Read  a  piece,  anyways!"  said  the  first  woman,  curiously, 
seeing  Tom  attentively  poring  over  it. 

Tom  read, — "Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

"I  jest  wish  I  know'd  whar  to  find  Him,"  said  the 
woman.  "I  would  go;  'pears  like  I  never  should  get  rested 
agin.  My  flesh  is  fairly  sore,  and  I  tremble  all  over,  every 
day,  and  Sambo  's  allers  a  jawin'  at  me,  'cause  I  doesn't 
pick  faster.  If  I  knew  whar  de  Lor'  was,  I'd  tell  Him." 

"He's  here,  he's  everywhere,"  said  Tom. 

"Lor,  you  an't  gwine  to  make  me  believe  dat  ar!  I 
know  de  Lord  an't  here,"  said  the  woman ;  "  'tan't  no  use 
talking,  though.  I's  jest  gwine  to  camp  down,  and  sleep 
while  I  ken." 

The  women  went  off  to  their  cabins,  and  Tom  eat  alone, 
by  the  smouldering  fire,  that  flickered  up  redly  in  his  face. 

16— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  XXXHL 

CASSY. 

IT  took  but  a  short  time  to  familiarize  Tom  with  all 
that  was  to  be  hoped  or  feared  in  his  new  way  of 
life,  and  Legree  took  silent  note  of  Tom's  availabil- 
ity. He  rated  him  as  a  first-class  hand;  and  yet  he  felt  a 
secret  dislike  to  him, — the  native  antipathy  of  bad  to  good. 

One  morning,  when  the  hands  were  mustered  for  the 
.field,  Tom  noticed,  with  surprise,  a  new  comer  among 
them,  whose  appearance  excited  his  attention.  It  was  a 
woman,  tall  and  slenderly  formed  with  remarkably  deli- 
cate hands  and  feet,  and  dressed  in  neat  and  respectable 
garments. 

Where  she  came  from,  or  who  she  was,  Tom  did  not 
know.  The  first  he  did  know,  she  was  walking  by  his  side, 
erect  and  proud,  in  the  dim  gray  of  the  dawn.  To  the 
gang,  however,  she  was  known ;  for  there  was  much  looking 
and  turning  of  heads,  and  a  smothered  yet  apparent  exul- 
tation among  the  miserable,  ragged,  half -starved  creatures 
by  whom  she  was  surrounded. 

"Got  to  come  to  it,  at  last, — glad  ef  it  I"  said  one. 

"He!  he!  he!"  said  another;  "you'll  know  how  good  it 
is,  Misse!" 

The  woman  took  no  notice  of  these  taunts,  but  walked 
on,  with  the  same  expression  of  angry  scorn. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  241 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  Tom  was  working  near  the 
mulatto  woman  who  had  been  bought  in  the  same  lot  with 
himself.  She  was  evidently  suffering,  and  Tom  often 
heard  her  praying,  as  she  wavered  and  trembled,  and 
seemed  about  to  fall  down.  Tom  silently,  as  he  came  near 
to  her,  transferred  several  handfuls  of  cotton  from  his 
own  sack  to  hers. 

."0,  don't,  don't!"  said  the  woman,  looking  surprised; 
"it'll  get  you  into  trouble." 

Just  then  Sambo  came  up.  He  seemed  to  have  a  special 
spite  against  this  woman;  and,  flourishing  his  whip,  said, 
in  brutal,  guttural  tones,  "What  dis  yer,  Luce, — foolin' 
a'?"  and,  with  the  word,  kicking  the  woman  with  his 
heavy  cowhide  shoe,  he  struck  Ton?  across  the  face  with 
his  whip. 

Tom  silently  resumed  his  task;  but  the  woman  fainted. 

"I  '11  bring  her  to !"  said  the  driver,  with  a  brutal  grin, 
and,  taking  a  pin  from  his  coat-sleeve,  he  buried  it  to  the 
head  in  her  flesh.  The  woman  groaned,  and  half  rose. 
"Get  up,  you  beast,  and  work,  will  yer,  or  I  '11  show  yer  a 
trick  more!" 

The  woman  seemed  stimulated,  for  a  few  moments,  to 
an  unnatural  strength,  and  worked  with  desperate  eager- 
ness. 

"See  that  you  keep  to  dat  ar,"  said  the  man,  "or  ye  '11 
wish  yer  's  dead  to-night,  I  reckin !" 

At  the  risk  of  all  that  he  might  suffer,  Tom  came  for- 
ward again,  and  put  ail  the  cotton  in  his  sack  into  the 
woman's. 

"0,  you  must  n't!  you  dunno  what  they  '11  do  to  ye!" 
said  the  woman. 


242  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

"I  can  bar  it !"  said  Tom,  "better  'n  you  ;"  and  he  was  at 
his  place  again. 

Suddenly,  the  stranger  woman,  who  had  come  near 
enough  to  hear  Tom's  last  words,  raised  her  heavy  black 
eyes,  and  then,  taking  a  quantity  of  cotton  from  her  bas- 
ket, she  placed  it  in  his. 

"You  know  nothing  about  this  place,"  she  said,  "or  you 
would  n't  have  done  that.  When  you  've  been  here  a 
month,  you  '11  be  done  helping  anybody ;  you  '11  find  it  hard 
enough  to  take  care  of  your  own  skin !" 

"The  Lord  forbid,  Missis!"  said  Tom. 

"The  Lord  never  visits  these  parts,"  said  the  woman, 
bitterly,  as  she  went  nimbly  forward  with  her  work. 

But  the  action  of  the  woman  had  been  seen  by  the 
driver,  across  the  field;  and,  flourishing  his  whip,  he  came 
up  to  her. 

"What!  what!"  he  said  to  the  woman,  with  an  air  of 
triumph,  you  a  f oolin'  ?  Go  along !  yer  under  me  now, — - 
mind  yourself,  or  yer  '11  cotch  it!" 

A  glance  like  sheet-lightning  suddenly  flashed  from 
those  black  eyes ;  and,  facing  about,  with  quivering  lip  and 
dilated  nostrils,  she  drew  herself  up,  and  fixed  a  glance, 
blazing  with  rage  and  scorn,  on  the  driver. 

"Dog!"  she  said,  "touch  me,  if  you  dare!  I  've  power 
enough,  yet,  to  have  you  torn  by  the  dogs,  burnt  alive,  cut 
to  inches !  I  've  only  to  say  the  word !" 

"What  you  here  for,  den?"  said  the  man,  sullenly  re- 
treating a  step  or  two.  "Did  n't  mean  no  harm,  Misse 
Cassy!" 

"Keep  your  distance,  then!"  said  the  woman.    The  man 


"Touch  me,  if  you  dare!" 


243 


244  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

found  something  to  attend  to  at  the  other  end  of  the  field, 
and  started  off  quickly. 

When  the  day's  work  was  done,  Legree  stood  conversing 
with  the  two  drivers. 

"Dat  ar  Tom  's  gwine  to  make  a  powerful  deal  o'  trou- 
ble; kept  a  puttin'  into  Lucy's  basket. — One  o7  these  yer 
dat  will  get  all  der  niggers  to  feelin'  'bused,  if  Mas'r  don't 
watch  him!"  said  Sambo. 

"Hey-dey !  The  black  cuss !"  said  Legree.  "He  '11  have 
to  get  a  breakin'  in,  won't  he,  boys  ?" 

Both  negroes  grinned  a  horrid  grin,  at  this  intimation. 

"Wai,  boys,  the  best  way  is  to  give  him  the  flogging  to 
do,  till  he  gets  over  his  notions.  Break  him  in !" 

"Wai,  Lucy  was  real  aggravatin'  and  lazy,  sulkin'  round ; 
would  n't  do  nothin', — and  Tom  he  tuck  up  for  her." 

"He  did,  eh !  Wai,  then,  Tom  shall  have  the  pleasure  of 
flogging  her.  It  '11  be  a  good  practice  for  him,  and  he 
won't  put  it  on  to  the  gal  like  you  devils,  neither." 

Slowly  the  weary,  dispirited  creatures  wound  their  way 
into  the  room,  and,  with  crouching  reluctance,  presented 
their  baskets  to  be  weighed. 

Tom's  basket  was  weighed  and  approved,  and  he  looked, 
with  an  anxious  glance,  for  the  success  of  the  woman  he 
had  befriended. 

Tottering  with  weakness,  she  came  forward,  and  deliv- 
ered her  basket.  It  was  of  full  weight,  as  Legree  well  per- 
ceived ;  but,  affecting  anger,  he  said, 

"What,  you  lazy  beast !  short  again !  stand  aside,  you  '11 
catch  it,  pretty  soon!" 

The  woman  gave  a  groan  of  utter  despair,  and  sat  down 
on  a  board. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  245 

"Now/'  said  Legree,  "come  here,  you  Tom.  Ye  jest 
lake  this  yer  gal  and  flog  her;  ye  've  seen  enough  on  't  to 
know  how." 

"I  beg  MasYs  pardon,"  said  Tom;  "hopes  Mas'r  won't 
set  me  at  that.  It 's  what  I  an't  used  to, — never  did, — and 
can't  do  no  way  possible." 

"Ye  '11  larn  a  pretty  smart  chance  of  things  ye  never  did 
know,  before  1  've  done  with  ye !"  said  Legree,  taking  up  a 
cowhide,  and  striking  Tom  a  heavy  blow  across  the  cheek, 
and  following  up  the  infliction  by  a  shower  of  blows. 

"There!"  he  said,  as  he  stopped  to  rest;  "now,  will  ye 
tell  me  ye  can't  do  it  ?" 

"Yes,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  putting  up  his  hand,  to  wipe 
the  blood,  that  trickled  down  his  face.  "I  'm  willin'  to 
\^ork,  night  and  day,  and  work  while  there  's  life  and 
breath  in  me;  but  this  yer  thing  I  can't  feel  it  right  to  do; 
— and,  Mas'r,  I  never  shall  do  it, — never!" 

Legree  looked  stupified  and  confounded;  but  at  last 
burst  forth, — 

"What!  ye  blasted  black  beast!  tell  me  ye  don't  think  it 
right  to  do  what  I  tell  ye !  So  you  pretend  it  's  wrong  to 
flog  the  gal!" 

"I  think  so,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom;  "the  poor  crittur  's  sick 
and  feeble;  't  would  be  downright  cruel,  and  it  's  what  I 
never  will  do,  nor  begin  to.  Mas'r,  if  you  mean  to  kill  me, 
kill  me;  but  as  to  my  raising  my  hand  agin  anyone  here, 
I  never  shall,— I'll  die  first!" 

"Well,  here  's  a  pious  dog,  at  last  let  down  among  us 
sinners !  An't  yer  mine,  body  and  soul  ?"  said  Legree,  giv- 
ing Tom  a  violent  kick  with  his  heavy  boot ;  "tell  me !" 

"No!  no!  no!  my  soul  an't  yours,  Mas'r!  You  have  n't 


246  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

bought  it, — ye  can't  buy  it!  It  's  been  bought  and  paid 
for,  by  One  that  is  able  to  keep  it ;  — no  matter,  no  matter, 
you  can't  harm  me !" 

"I  can't!"  said  Legree,  with  a  sneer;  "we  '11  see, — we  '11 
see!  Here,  Sambo,  Quimbo,  give  this  dog  such  a  breakin' 
in  as  he  won't  get  over,  this  month !" 

The  two  gigantic  negroes  laid  hold  of  Tom,  with  fiendish 
exultation  in  their  faces.  The  poor  woman  screamed  with 
apprehension,  and  all  rose,  as  by  a  general  impulse,  while 
they  dragged  him  unresisting  from  the  place. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 
THE  QUADROON'S  STORY. 

IT  was  late  at  night,  and  Tom  lay  groaning  and  bleed- 
ing alone,  in  an  old  forsaken  room  of  the  gin  house, 
among  pieces  of  broken  machinery,  piles  of  dam- 
aged cotton,   and   other  rubbish   which  had  there  accu- 
mulated. 

The  night  was  damp  and  close,  and  the  thick  air 
swarmed  with  myriads  of  mosquitoes,  which  increased  the 
restless  torture  of  his  wounds ;  whilst  a  burning  thirst — a 
torture  beyond  all  others — filled  up  the  uttermost  measure 
of  physical  anguish* 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


24? 


"0,  good  Lord !  Do  look  down, — give  me  the  victory ! — 
give  me  the  victory  over  all!"  prayed  poor  Tom,  in  his 
anguish. 

A  footstep  entered  the  room,  behind  him,  and  the  light 
of  a  lantern  flashed  on  his  eyes. 


"Drink  all  ye  want." 

"Who  'B  there?  0,  for  the  Lord's  massy,  please  give  me 
some  water  I" 

The  woman  Cassy — for  it  was  she — set  down  her  lan- 
tern, and  pouring  water  from  a  bottle,  raised  his  head,  and 


248  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

gave  him  drink.  Another  and  another  cup  were  drained, 
with  feverish  eagerness. 

"Drink  all  ye  want/'  she  said ;  "I  knew  how  it  would  be. 
It  is  n't  the  first  time  I  ?ve  been  out  in  the  night,  carrying 
water  to  such  as  you." 

"Thank  you,  Missis,"  said  Tom,  when  he  had  done 
drinking. 

"Don't  call  me  Missis !  I  'm  a  miserable  slave,  like  your- 
self,— a  lower  one  than  you  can  ever  be!"  said  she,  bitterly; 
"but  now,"  said  she,  going  to  the  door,  and  dragging  in  a 
small  mattress,  over  which  she  had  spread  linen  cloths 
wet  with  cold  water,  "try,  my  poor  fellow,  to  roll  yourself 
on  to  this." 

Stiff  with  wounds  and  bruises,  Tom  was  a  long  time  in 
accomplishing  this  movement;  but,  when  done,  he  felt  a 
sensible  relief  from  the  cooling  application  to  his  wounds. 

"Now,"  said  the  woman,  when  she  had  raised  his  head 
on  a  roll  of  damaged  cotton,  which  served  for  a  pillow, 
"there  's  the  best  I  can  do  for  you." 

Tom  thanked  her;  and  the  woman,  sitting  down  on  the 
floor,  drew  up  her  knees,  and  embracing  them  with  her 
arms,  looked  fixedly  before  her,  with  a  bitter  and  painful 
expression  of  countenance. 

"It  ys  no  use,  my  poor  fellow!"  she  broke  out,  at  last, 
"it  's  of  no  use,  this  you  've  been  trying  to  do.  You  were 
a  brave  fellow, — you  had  the  right  on  your  side;  but  it  's 
all  in  vain,  and  out  of  the  question,  for  you  to  struggle. 
You  are  in  the  devil's  hands; — he  is  the  strongest,  and 
you  must  give  up!" 

"0  Lord!  0  Lord!"  he  groaned,  "how  can  I  give  up?" 

"There  's  no  use  calling  on  the  Lord, — He  never  hears/' 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  249 

said  the  woman,  steadily;  "there  is  n't  any  God,  I  believe; 
or,  if  there  is,  He  's  taken  sides  against  us/' 

Tom  closed  his  eyes,  and  shuddered  at  the  dark,  atheistic 
words. 

"You  see,"  said  the  woman,  "you  don't  know  anything 
about  it; — I  do.  I  've  been  on  this  place  five  years,  body 
and  soul,  under  this  man's  foot;  and  I  hate  him  as  I  do 
the  devil!  Here  you  are,  on  a  lone  plantation,  ten  miles 
from  any  other,  in  the  swamps;  not  a  white  person  here, 
who  could  testify,  if  you  were  burned  alive, — if  you  were 
scalded,  cut  into  inch  pieces,  set  up  for  the  dogs  to  tear,  or 
hung  up  and  whipped  to  death.  There  's  no  law  here,  of 
God  or  man,  that  can  do  for  you,  or  any  one  of  us,  the  least 
good;  and  this  man!  there  's  no  earthly  thing  that  he  'a 
too  good  to  do.  I  could  make  anyone's  hair  rise,  and  their 
teeth  chatter,  if  I  should  only  tell  what  I  've  seen  and  been 
knowing  to,  here, — and  it 's  no  use  resisting!  Did  I  want 
to  live  with  him  ?  Was  n't  I  a  woman  delicately  bred ;  and 
he — God  in  heaven !  what  was  he,  and  is  he?  And  yet  I  've 
lived  with  him,  these  five  years,  and  cursed  every  moment 
of  my  life, — night  and  day !  And  now,  he  's  got  a  new  one, 
• — a  young  thing,  only  fifteen,  and  she  brought  up,  she  says, 
piously.  Her  good  mistress  taught  her  to  read  the  Bible ; 
and  she  's  brought  her  Bible  here — to  hell  with  her !" — and 
the  woman  laughed  a  wild  and  doleful  laugh,  that  rung, 
with  a  strange,  supernatural  sound,  through  the  old  ruined 
shed. 

Tom  folded  his  hands;  all  was  darkness  and  horror. 

There  was  a  silence,  a  while,  in  which  the  breathing  of 
both  parties  could  be  heard,  when  Tom  faintly  said,  "0, 
please,  Missis !" 


250  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

The  woman  suddenly  rose  up,  with  her  face  composed  to 
its  usual  stern,  melancholy  expression. 

"Please,  Missis,  I  saw  'em  throw  my  coat  in  that  ar'  cor- 
ner, and  in  my  coat  pocket  is  my  Bible; — if  Missis  would 
please  get  it  for  me." 

Gassy  went  and  got  it.  Tom  opened,  at  once,  to  a  heav- 
ily marked  passage,  much  worn,  of  the  last  scenes  in  the 
life  of  Him  by  whose  stripes  we  are  healed. 

"If  Missis  would  only  be  so  good  as  read  that  ar', — it  's 
better  than  water." 

Gassy  took  the  book  and  began  to  read  aloud.  When  she 
came  to  the  words,  "Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know 
not  what  they  do,"  she  threw  down  the  book,  and  burying 
her  face  in  the  heavy  masses  of  her  hair,  she  sobbed  aloud, 
with  a  convulsive  violence. 

Then  she  told  him  the  story  of  her  life.  The  pitiful 
story  of  a  slave  mother  and  a  white  father;  of  a  child 
reared  in  luxury,  sold  to  be  the  slave  of  man's  passions; 
and  then  the  loss  of  her  children,  who  were  torn  from  her 
and  sold  as  well.  The  common  fate  of  a  beautiful  slave 
woman  had  been  hers,  and  then,  with  faded  beauty  and  a 
broken  heart,  a  home,  if  it  could  be  so  called,  with  Legree. 

The  woman  stopped.  She  had  hurried  on  through  her 
story,  with  a  wild,  passionate  utterance;  sometimes  seem- 
ing to  address  it  to  Tom,  and  sometimes  speaking  as  in  a 
soliloquy.  So  vehement  and  overpowering  was  the  force 
with  which  she  spoke,  that,  for  a  season,  Tom  was  beguiled 
even  from  the  pain  of  his  wounds,  and,  raising  himself  on 
one  elbow,  watched  her  as  she  paced  restlessly  up  and 
down,  her  long  black  hair  swaying  heavily  about  her,  as 
she  moved. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  251 

0,  Missis,  I  wish  you  'd  go  to  Him  that  can  give  you 
living  waters !" 

"Go  to  Him!    Where  is  He?    Who  is  He?"  said  Gassy. 

"Him  that  you  read  of  to  me, — the  Lord." 

"I  used  to  see  the  picture  of  Him,  over  the  altar,  when  I 
was  a  girl,"  said  Gassy,  her  dark  eyes  fixing  themselves  in 
an  expression  of  mournful  reverie;  "but,  He  is  n't  here! 
there  's  nothing  here,  but  sin,  and  long,  long,  long  despair ! 
0!"  She  laid  her  hand  on  her  breast  and  drew  in  her 
breath,  as  if  to  lift  a  heavy  weight. 

Tom  looked  as  if  he  would  speak  again;  but  she  cut  him 
short,  with  a  decided  gesture. 

"Don't  talk,  my  poor  fellow.  Try  to  sleep,  if  you  can." 
And,  placing  water  in  his  reach,  and  making  whatever 
little  arrangements  for  his  comfort  she  could,  Gassy  left 
the  shed. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LEGREE  AND  CASSY. 

E  sitting-room  of  Legree's  establishment  was  a 
large,  long  room,  with  a  wide,  ample  fireplace.  In 
the  fireplace  stood  a  brazier  full  of  burning  char- 
coal ;  for,  although  the  weather  was  not  cold,  the  evenings 
seemed  damp  and  chilly  in  that  great  room;  and  Legree, 


252  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

moreover,  wanted  a  place  to  light  his  cigars,  and  heat  his 
water  for  punch. 

Legree  was  just  mixing  himself  a  tumbler  of  punch, 
pouring  his  hot  water  from  a  cracked  and  broken-nosed 
pitcher,  grumbling,  as  he  did  so. 

"Plague  on  that  Sambo,  to  kick  up  this  yer  row  between 
me  and  the  new  hands!  The  fellow  won't  be  fit  to  work 
for  a  week,  now, — right  in  the  press  of  the  season !" 

"Yes,  just  like  you,"  said  a  voice,  behind  his  chair.  It 
was  the  woman  Gassy,  who  had  stolen  upon  his  soliloquy. 

"Hah !  you  she-devil !  you  've  come  back,  have  you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have,"  she  said,  coolly;  "come  to  have  my  own 
way,  too!" 

"You  lie,  you  jade !  I  '11  be  up  to  my  word.  Either  be- 
have yourself,  or  stay  down  to  the  quarters,  and  fare  and 
work  with  the  rest." 

"Simon  Legree,  take  care!"  said  the  woman,  with  a 
sharp  flash  of  her  eye,  a  glance  so  wild  and  insane  in  its 
light  as  to  be  almost  appalling.  "You  're  afraid  of  me, 
Simon,"  she  said  deliberately;  "and  you  've  reason  to  be! 
But  be  careful,  for  I've  got  the  devil  in  me!" 

The  last  words  she  whispered  in  a  hissing  tone,  close  to 
his  ear. 

Gassy  had  always  kept  over  Legree  the  kind  of  influence 
that  a  strong,  impassioned  woman  can  ever  keep  over  the 
most  brutal  man;  but,  of  late,  she  had  grown  more  and 
more  irritable  and  restless  under  the  hideous  yoke  of  her 
servitude.  When  Legree  brought  Emmeline  to  the  house, 
all  the  smouldering  embers  of  womanly  feeling  flashed  up 
in  the  worn  heart  of  Gassy,  and  she  took  part  with  the 
girl;  and  a  fierce  quarrel  ensued  between  her  and  Legree. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


S53 


Legree,  in  a  fury,  swore  she  should  be  put  to  field  service, 
if  she  would  not  be  peaceable.     Gassy,  with  proud  scorn, 
declared  she  would  go  to  the  field.    And  she  worked  there 
one  day,  to  show  how  perfectly  she  scorned  the  threat. 
"Blast  it!"  said  Legree  to  himself,  as  he  sipped  his 


"You're  afraid  of  me,  Simon." 


liquor,  after  Gassy  had  slipped  out  of  the  room,  "1 5m  lone- 
some. I  '11  have  Sambo  and  Quimbo  up  here,  to  sing  and 
dance  one  of  their  hell  dances,  and  keep  off  these  horrid 
notions;"  and  putting  on  his  hat,  he  went  on  to  the  veran- 


254 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


dah,  and  blew  a  horn,  with  which  he  commonly  summoned 

his  two  sable  drivers. 

Legree  was  often  wont,  when  in  a  gracious  humor,  to  get 

these  two  worthies  into  his  sitting-room,  and,  after  warm- 
ing them  up  with  whiskey, 
amuse  himself  by  setting 
them  to  singing,  dancing 
or  fighting,  as  the  humor 
took  him. 

It  was  between  one  and 
two  o'clock  at  night,  as 
Gassy  was  returning  from 
her  ministrations  to  poor 
Tom,  that  she  heard  the 
sound  of  wild  shrieking, 
whooping,  hallooing,  and 
singing,  from  the  sitting- 
room,  mingled  with  the 
"Singing,  dancing  or  fighting."  barking  Qf  ^  and  Qther 

symptoms  of  general  uproar.  She  came  up  on  the  veran- 
dah steps,  and  looked  in.  Legree  and  both  the  drivers,  in 
a  state  of  furious  intoxication,  were  singing,  whooping, 
upsetting  chairs,  and  making  all  manner  of  ludicrous  and 
horrid  grimaces  at  each  other. 

She  turned  hurriedly  away,  and,  passing  round  to  a  back 
door,  glided  upstairs,  and  tapped  at  Emmeline's  door. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  255 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

EMMELINE  AND  CASSY. 

CASSY  entered  the  room,  and  found  Emmeline  sitting, 
pale  with  fear,  in  the  furthest  corner  of  it.  As 
she  came  in,  the  girl  started  up  nervously;  but,  on 
seeing  who  it  was,  rushed  forward,  and  catching  her  arm, 
said:  "0,  Gassy,  is  it  you?  I  was  afraid  it  was — .  0,  you 
don't  know  what  a  horrid  noise  there  has  been,  downstairs, 
all  this  evening  I" 

"I  ought  to  know,"  said  Gassy,  dryly.  "I  've  heard  it 
often  enough." 

"0,  Gassy !  do  tell  me, — could  n't  we  get  away  from  this 
place?  I  don't  care  where, — into  the  swamp  among  the 
snakes, — anywhere!  Gould  n't  we  get  somewhere  away 
from  here  ?" 

"Nowhere,  but  into  our  graves/'  said  Gassy. 

"Did  you  ever  try?" 

"T  've  seen  enough  of  trying,  and  what  comes  of  it,"  said 
Gassy. 

"I  'd  be  willing  to  live  in  the  swamps,  and  gnaw  the  bark 
from  trees.  I  an't  afraid  of  snakes !  I  'd  rather  have  one 
near  me  than  him,"  said  Emmeline,  eagerly. 

"There  have  been  a  good  many  here  of  your  opinion," 
said  Gassy ;  "but  you  could  n't  stay  in  tke  swamps, — you  'd 

17— Uncle   Tom's  Cabin. 


256  tfncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

be  tracked  by  the  dogs,  and  brought  back,  and  then- 
then—" 

"What  would  he  do?"  said  the  girl,  looking,  with  breath- 
less interest,  into  her  face. 

"What  would  n't  he  do,  you  'd  better  ask,"  said  Cassy. 
"He  's  learned  his  trade  well,  among  the  pirates  in  the 
West  Indies.  You  would  n't  sleep  much,  if  I  should  tell 
you  things  I  've  seen, — things  that  he  tells  of,  sometimes, 
for  good  jokes.  I  've  heard  screams  here  that  I  have  n't 
been  able  to  get  out  of  my  head  for  weeks  and  weeks. 
There  's  a  place  way  out  down  by  the  quarters,  where  you 
can  see  a  black,  blasted  tree,  and  the  ground  all  covered 
with  black  ashes.  Ask  anyone  what  was  done  there,  and 
see  if  they  will  dare  to  tell  you." 

Emmeline  turned  away,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 

While  this  conversation  was  passing  in  the  chamber,  Le- 
gree,  overcome  with  his  carouse,  had  sank  to  sleep  in  the 
room  below. 

In  the  morning  he  woke  with  an  oath  and  a  curse,  and, 
stumbling  to  his  feet,  poured  out  a  tumbler  of  brandy  and 
drank  half  o'f  it. 

"I  \e  had  a  frightful  night !"  he  said  to  Cassy,  who  just 
then  entered  from  an  opposite  door. 

"You  '11  get  plenty  of  the  same  sort,  by  and  by,"  said 
she,  dryly. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  minx?" 

"You  '11  find  out,  one  of  these  days,"  returned  Cassy,  in 
the  same  tone.  "Xow,  Simon,  I  've  one  piece  of  advice  to 
give  you.  You  let  Tom  alone." 

"What  business  is  't  of  yours  ?" 

"What?    To  be  sure,  I'don't  know  what  it  should  be. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  257 

If  you  want  to  pay  twelve  hundred  for  a  fellow,  and  use 
him  right  up  in  the  press  of  the  season,  just  to  serve  your 
own  spite,  it 's  no  business  of  mine.  I  Tve  done  what  I  could 
for  him." 

"You  have?  What  business  have  you  meddling  in  my 
matters?" 

"None,  to  be  sure.  I  Jve  saved  you  some  thousands  of 
dollars,  at  different  times,  by  taking  care  of  your  hands, — 
that  9a  all  the  thanks  I  get.  If  your  crop  comes  shorter 
into  market  than  any  of  theirs,  you  won't  lose  your  bet,  I 
suppose?  Tompkins  won't  lord  it  over  you,  I  suppose, — 
and  you  '11  pay  down  your  money  like  a  lady,  won't  you  ?  I 
think  I  see  you  doing  it !" 

Legree,  like  many  other  planters,  had  but  one  form  of 
ambition, — to  have  in  the  heaviest  crop  of  the  season, — 
and  he  had  several  bets  on  this  very  present  season  pend- 
ing in  the  next  town.  Gassy,  therefore,  with  woman's  tact, 
touched  the  only  string  that  could  be  made  to  vibrate. 

"Well,  I  '11  let  him  off  at  what  he  's  got,"  said  Legree; 
"but  he  shall  beg  my  pardon,  and  promise  better  fashions." 

Legree,  though  he  talked  so  stoutly  to  Gassy,  sallied 
forth  from  the  house  with  a  degree  of  misgiving. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  said  Legree,  with  a  contemptuous  kick, 
"how  do  you  find  yourself?  Did  n't  I  tell  yer  I  could  larn 
yer  a  thing  or  two  ?  How  do  yer  like  it, — eh  ?  How  did 
yer  whaling  agree  with  yer,  Tom  ?  An't  quite  so  crank  as 
ye  was  last  night.  Ye  could  n't  treat  a  poor  sinner,  now, 
to  a  bit  of  a  sermon,  could  ye, — eh  ?" 

Tom  answered  nothing. 

"Get  up,  you  beast !"  said  Legree,  kicking  him  again. 

This  was  a  difficult  matter  for  one  so  bruised  and  faint; 


258  TJncle  Tom's  Cabin ;  or 

and,  as  Tom  made  efforts  to  do  so,  Legree  laughed  brutally. 

"What  makes  ye  so  spry,  this  morning,  Tom?  Cotched 
cold,  maybe,  last  night." 

Tom  by  this  time  had  gained  his  feet,  and  was  confront- 
ing his  master  with  a  steady,  unmoved  front. 

"The  devil,  you  can !"  said  Legree,  looking  him  over.  "I 
believe  you  have  n't  got  enough  yet.  Now,  Tom,  get  right 
down  on  yer  knees  and  beg  my  pardon,  for  yer  shines  last 
night." 

Tom  did  not  move. 

"Down,  you  dog!"  said  Legree,  striking  him  with  his 
riding  whip. 

"Mas'r  Legree,"  said  Tom,  "I  can't  do  it.  I  did  only 
what  I  thought  was  right.  I  shall  do  just  so  again,  if  ever 
the  time  comes.  I  never  will  do  a  cruel  thing,  come  what 
may."  v 

"I  11  make  ye  give  out,  though,  'fore  I  've  done!"  said 
Legree,  in  a  rage. 

"I  shall  have  help,"  said  Tom ;  "you  '11  never  do  it." 

"Who  the  devil  's  going  to  help  you?"  said  Legree, 
scornfully. 

"The  Lord  Almighty,"  said  Tom. 

"D — n  you !"  said  Legree,  as  with  one  blow  of  his  fist  he 
felled  Tom  to  the  earth. 

"Hark,  ye!"  he  said  to  Tom;  "I  won't  deal  with  ye  now, 
because  the  business  is  pressing,  and  I  want  all  my  hands; 
but  I  never  forget.  I  '11  score  it  against  ye,  and  sometime 
I  '11  have  my  pay  out  o'  yer  old  black  hide, — mind  ye!" 


"I'll  make  ye  give  out,  though." 


259 


260  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


A  "WHILE  we  must  leave  Tom  in  the  hands  of  his 
persecutors,  while  we  turn  to  pursue  the  fortunes 
of  George  and  his  wife,  whom  we  left  in  friendly 
hands,  in  a  farmhouse  on  the  roadside. 

We  left  Tom  Loker  groaning  in  a  most  immaculately 
clean  Quaker  bed,  under  the  motherly  supervision  of  Aunt 
Dorcas. 

"The  devil!"  said  Tom  Loker,  giving  a  great  throw  to 
the  bedclothes. 

"I  must  request  thee,  Thomas,  not  to  use  such  lan- 
guage," said  Aunt  Dorcas,  as  she  quietly  rearranged  the 
bed. 

"Well,  I  won't,  granny,  if  I  can  help  it,"  said  Tom. 

"That  fellow  and  gal  are  here,  I  s'pose,"  said  he,  sudden- 
ly, after  a  pause. 

"They  are  so,"  said  Dorcas. 

"They  'd  better  be  off  up  to  the  lake,"  said  Tom;  "the 
quicker  the  better." 

"Probably  they  will  do  so,"  said  Aunt  Dorcas. 

"And  hark  ye,"  said  Tom;  "we  've  got  correspondents 
in  Sandusky,  that  watch  the  boats  for  us.  I  don't  care  if 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  261 

I  tell,  now.  I  hope  they  will  get  away,  just  to  spite  Marks, 
— the  cursed  puppy! — " 

"Thomas!"  said  Dorcas. 

"I  tell  you,  granny,  if  you  bottle  a  fellow  up  too  tight, 
I  shall  split/'  said  Tom.  "But  about  the  gal,— tell  'em  to 
dress  her  up  some  way,  so  's  to  alter  her.  Her  description's 
out  in  Sandusky." 

"We  will  attend  to  that  matter,"  said  Dorcas,  with  char- 
acteristic composure. 

After  Tom  Loker  had  lain  three  weeks  in  bed  at  the 
Quaker  dwelling,  he  arose  a  somewhat  sadder  and  wiser 
man;  and,  in  place  of  slave  catching,  betook  himself  to 
life  in  one  of  the  new  settlements,  where  his  talents  devel- 
oped themselves  more  happily  in  trapping  bears,  wolves, 
and  other  inhabitants  of  the  forest,  in  which  he  made  him- 
self quite  a  name  in  the  land.  Tom  always  spoke  rever- 
ently of  the  Quakers.  "Nice  people,"  he  would  say; 
'•'wanted  to  convert  me,  but  could  n't  come  it,  exactly.  But, 
tell  ye  what,  stranger,  they  do  fix  up  a  sick  fellow  first  rate, 
no  mistake.  Make  jist  the  tallest  kind  o'  broth  and 
knicknacks." 

As  Tom  had  informed  them  that  their  party  would  be 
looked  for  in  Sanduslry,  it  was  thought  prudent  to  divide 
them.  Jim,  with  his  old  mother,  was  forwarded  separately; 
and  a  night  or  two  after,  George  and  Eliza,  with  their 
child,  were  driven  privately  into  Sandusky,  and  lodged  be- 
neath a  hospitable  roof,  preparatory  to  taking  their  last 
passage  on  the  lake. 

Before  Eliza  was  arrayed  in  man's  attire,  she  shook  down 
her  silky  abundance  of  black  curly  hair.  "I  say,  George, 


262 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


it 's  almost  a  pity,  is  n't  it/'  she  said,  as  she  held  up  somt 
of  it,  playfully, — "pity  it  9s  all  got  to  come  off  ?" 
George  smiled  sadly,  and  made  no  answer. 
Eliza  turned  to  the  glass,  and  the  scissors  glittered  as 
one  long  lock  after  another  was  detached  from  her  head. 

"There,  now,  that  '11  do/'  she  said,  taking  up  a  hair- 
brush; "now  for  a  few  fancy  touches/' 

"There,  won't  I  make  a 
pretty  young  fellow/'  she 
said,  turning  to  her  hus- 
band, laughing  and  blush- 
ing at  the  same  time. 

"You  will  always  be 
pretty,  do  what  you  will/' 
said  George. 

The  door  opened,  and  a 
respectable,  middle-aged 
woman  entered,  leading 
little  Harry,  dressed  in 
girl's  clothes. 

"What  a  pretty  girl  he 
makes,"   said  Eliza,  turn- 
ing him  round.     "We  call 
"Eliza  turned  to  the  glass."       him     Harriet,     you     see; 
— don't  the  name  come  nicely  ?" 

A  hack  now  drove  to  the  door,  and  the  friendly  family 
who  had  received  the  fugitives  crowded  around  them  with 
farewell  greetings. 

The  disguises  the  party  had  assumed  were  in  accordance 
with  the  hints  of  Tom  Loker.  Mrs.  Smyth,  a  respectable 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  263 

• 

woman  from  the  settlement  in  Canada,  whither  they  were 
fleeing,  had  consented  to  appear  as  the  aunt  of  little 
Harry;  and,  in  order  to  attach  him  to  her,  he  had  been 
allowed  to  remain  the  two  last  days,  under  her  sole  charge; 
and  an  extra  amount  of  petting,  joined  to  an  indefinite 
amount  of  seedcakes  and  candy,  had  cemented  a  very  close 
attachment  on  the  part  of  the  young  gentleman. 

The  hack  drove  to  the  wharf.  The  two  young  men,  as 
they  appeared,  walked  up  the  plank  into  the  boat,  Eliza 
gallantly  giving  her  arm  to  Mrs.  Smyth,  and  George  at- 
tending to  their  baggage. 

George  was  standing  at  the  captain's  office,  settling  for 
his  party,  when  he  overheard  two  men  talking  by  his  side. 

"I  've  watched  everyone  that  came  on  board,"  said  the 
clerk,  "and  I  know  they  're  not  on  this  boat." 

The  speaker  whom  he  addressed  was  our  old  friend 
Marks. 

"You  would  scarcely  know  the  woman  from  a  white 
woman,"  said  Marks.  "The  man  is  a  very  light  mulatto; 
he  has  a  brand  in  one  of  his  hands." 

The  hand  with  which  George  was  taking  the  tickets  and 
change  trembled  a  little;  but  he  turned  coolly  around, 
fixed  an  unconcerned  glance  on  the  face  of  the  speaker,  and 
walked  leisurely  toward  another  part  of  the  boat,  where 
Eliza  stood  waiting  for  them. 

Mrs.  Smyth,  with  little  Harry,  sought  the  seclusion  of 
the  ladies'  cabin,  where  the  dark  beauty  of  the  supposed 
little  girl  drew  many  flattering  comments  from  the  pas- 
sengers. 

George  had  the  satisfaction,  as  the  bell  rang  out  its  fare- 
well peal,  to  see%Marks  walk  down  the  plank  to  the  shore; 


264  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

• 

and  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  when  the  boat  had  put  a 
returnless  distance  between  them. 

George  and  his  wife  stood  arm  in  arm,  as  the  boat  neared 
the  small  town  of  Amherstberg,  in  Canada.  His  breath 
grew  thick  and  short ;  a  mist  gathered  before  his  eyes ;  he 
silently  pressed  the  little  hand  that  lay  trembling  on  his 
arm.  The  bell  rang;  the  boat  stopped.  Scarcely  seeing 
what  he  did,  he  looked  out  his  baggage,  and  gathered  his 
little  party.  The  little  company  were  landed  on  the  shore. 
They  stood  still  till  the  boat  had  cleared;  and  then,  with 
tears  and  embracings,  the  husband  and  wife,  with  their 
wondering  child  in  their  arms,  knelt  down  and  lifted  up 
their  hearts  to  God! 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  265 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

THE  VICTORY. 

LONG  before  his  wounds  were  healed,  Legree  insisted 
that  Tom  should  be  put  to  the  regular  field  work ; 
and  then  came  day  after  day  of  pain  and  weari- 
ness, aggravated  by  every  kind  of  injustice  and  indignity 
that  the  ill-will  of  a  mean  and  malicious  mind  could 
devise. 

One  evening,  he  was  sitting,  in  utter  dejection  and  pros- 
tration, by  a  few  decaying  brands,  where  his  coarse  supper 
was  baking.  He  put  a  few  bits  of  brushwood  on  the  fire, 
and  strove  to  raise  the  light,  and  then  drew  his  worn  Bible 
from  his  pocket,  then  heavily  sighed  and  replaced  it.  A 
coarse  laugh  roused  him;  he  looked  up, — Legree  was 
standing  opposite  to  him. 

"Well,  old  boy,"  he  said,  "you  find  your  religion  don't 
work,  it  seems !  I  thought  I  should  get  that  through  your 
wool,  at  last!  Come,  Tom,  don't  you  think  you  'd  better 
be  reasonable ! — heave  that  ar  old  pack  of  trash  in  the  fire, 
and  join  my  church !" 

"The  Lord  forbid!"  said  Tom,  fervently. 

"You  see  the  Lord  an't  going  to  help  you;  if  he  had 
been,  He  would  n't  have  let  me  get  you !  This  yer  religion 
is  all  a  mess  of  lying  trumpery,  Tom.  I  know  all  about  it- 


266  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

Ye  ?d  better  hold  to  me ;  I  'm  somebody,  and  can  do  some' 
thing!" 

"No,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom;  "I  '11  hold  on.  The  Lord  may 
help  me,  or  not  help;  but  I  '11  hold  to  Him,  and  believe 
Him  to  the  last  \" 

"The  more  fool  you!"  said  Legree,  spitting  scornfully  ar.t 
him,  and  spurning  him  with  his  foot.  "Never  mind;  I  '11 
chase  you  down,  yet,  and  bring  you  under, — you  '11  see!" 
and  Legree  turned  away. 

Tom  sat,  like  one  stunned,  at  the  fire.  Suddenly  every- 
thing around  him  seemed  to  fade,  and  a  vision  rose  before 
him  of  One  crowned  with  thorns,  buffeted  and  bleeding. 
Tom  gazed,  in  awe  and  wonder,  at  the  majestic  patience  of 
the  face;  the  deep,  pathetic  eyes  thrilled  him  to  his  ut- 
most heart;  his  soul  woke,  as,  with  floods  of  emotion,  he 
stretched  out  his  hands  and  fell  upon  his  knees, — when, 
gradually,  the  vision  changed:  the  sharp  thorns  became 
rays  of  glory,  and,  in  splendor  inconceivable,  he  saw  that 
same  face  bending  compassionately  towards  him,  and  a 
voice  said,  "He  that  overcometh  shall  sit  down  with  Me  on 
My  throne,  even  as  I  also  overcame,  and  am  set  down  with 
My  Father  on  His  throne." 

From  this  time,  an  inviolable  sphere  of  peace  encom- 
passed the  lowly  heart  of  the  oppressed  one.  All  noticed 
the  change  in  his  appearance.  Cheerfulness  and  alertness 
seemed  to  return  to  him,  and  a  quietness  which  no  insult 
or  injury  could  ruffle  seemed  to  possess  him. 

One  night,  after  all  in  Tom's  cabin  were  sunk  in  sleep, 
he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  seeing  Cassy's  face  at  the  hole 
between  the  logs,  that  served  for  a  window.  She  made  a 
silent  gesture  for  him  to  come  out. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


267 


Tom  came  out  the  door.  It  was  between  one  and  two 
o'clock  at  night, — broad,  calm,  still  moonlight.  Tom  re- 
marked, as  the  light  of  the  moon  fell  upon  Cassy's  large, 


"Then  I  shall  do  it.'*" 


black  eye?,  that  there  was  a  wild  and  peculiar  glare  in 
them,  unlike  their  wonted  fixed  despair. 

"Come  here,  Father  Tom/'  she  said,  laying  her  small 


268  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

hand  on  his  wrist,  and  drawing  him  forward  with  a  force 
as  if  the  hand  were  of  steel;  "come  here, — I  've  news  for 
you." 

"What,  Misse  Gassy?"  said  Tom,  anxiously. 

"Tom,  would  n't  you  like  your  liberty  ?" 

"I  shall  have  it,  Misse,  in  God's  time,"  said  Tom. 

"Ay,  but  you  may  have  it  to-night,"  said  Cassy,  with  a 
flash  of  sudden  energy.  "Come  on." 

Tom  hesitated. 

"Come !"  said  she,  in  a  whisper,  fixing  her  black  eyes  on 
him.  "Come  along!  He  's  asleep — sound.  I  put  enough 
into  his  brandy  to  keep  him  so.  I  wish  I  'd  had  more, — I 
should  n't  have  wanted  you.  But  come,  the  back  door  is 
unlocked;  there  's  an  axe  there,  I  put  it  there, — his  room 
door  is  open;  I  '11  show  you  the  way.  I  'd  a  done  it  myself, 
only  my  arms  are  so  weak.  Come  along !" 

"Not  for  ten  thousand  worlds,  Misse !"  said  Tom,  firmly, 
stopping  and  holding  her  back,  as  she  was  pressing 
forward. 

"But  think  of  all  these  poor  creatures,"  said  Cassy.  "We 
might  set  them  all  free,  and  go  somewhere  in  the  swamps, 
and  find  an  island,  and  live  by  ourselves;  I  've  heard  of  its 
being  done.  Any  life  is  better  than  this." 

"No!"  said  Tom,  firmly.  "No!  good  never  comes  of 
wickedness.  I  ?d  sooner  chop  my  right  hand  off!" 

"Then  I  shall  do  it,"  said  Cassy,  turning. 

"Poor  soul !"  said  Tom,  compassionately.  "Satan  desires 
to  have  ye,  and  sift  ye  as  wheat.  I  pray  the  Lord  for  ye. 
0 !  Misse  Cassy,  turn  to  the  dear  Lord  Jesus.  He  came  to 
bind  up  the  broken-hearted,  and  comfort  all  that  mourn." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  269 

Cassy  stood  silent,  while  large,  heavy  tears  dropped  from 
her  downcast  eyes. 

"Misse  Gassy/'  said  Tom,  in  a  hesitating  tone,  after  sur- 
veying her  a  moment  in  silence,  "if  ye  only  could  get  away 
from  here, — if  the  thing  was  possible, — I  'd  Vise  ye  and 
Emmeline  to  do  it;  that  is,  if  ye  could  go  without  blood- 
guiltiness, — not  otherwise." 

"Would  you  try  it  with  us,  Father  Tom?" 

"No,"  said  Tom;  "time  was  when  I  would;  but  the 
Lord  's  given  me  a  work  among  these  yer  poor  souls,  and 
I  '11  stay  with  'em  and  bear  my  cross  with  'em  till  the  end. 
It 's  different  with  you;  it 's  a  snare  to  you, — it 's  more  'n 
you  can  stand, — and  you  'd  better  go,  if  you  can." 

"Father  Tom,  I  '11  try  it!"  she  said  suddenly. 

"Amen!"  said  Tom,  "the  Lord  help  ye!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  STRATAGEM. 

sleeping  room  of  Cassy  was  directly  under  the 
garret.    One  day,  without  consulting  Legree,  she 
suddenly  took  it  upon  her  to  change  all  the  furni- 
ture of  the  room  to  one  at  some  considerable  distance. 
The  under-servants,  who  were  helping  her,  wera  running 


270  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

and  bustling  about  with  great  zeal  and  confusion,  when 
Legree  returned  from  a  ride. 

"Hallo!  you  Cass!"  said  Legree,  "what  's  in  the  wind 
now?" 

"Nothing;  only  I  choose  to  have  another  room/'  said 
Cassy,  doggedly. 

"And  what  for,  pray?"  said  Legree. 

"I  'd  like  to  get  some  sleep,  now  and  then." 

"Sleep!  well,  what  hinders  your  sleeping?" 

"I  could  tell,  I  suppose,  if  you  want  to  hear,"  said  Cassy, 
dryly. 

"Speak  out,  you  minx !"  said  Legree. 

"0 !  nothing.  I  suppose  it  would  n't  disturb  you !  Only 
groans,  and  people  scufflling,  and  rolling  round  on  the 
garret  floor,  half  the  night,  from  twelve  to  morning!" 

"People  up  garret !"  said  Legree,  uneasily,  but  forcing  a 
laugh ;  "who  are  they,  Cassy  ?" 

Cassy  raised  her  sharp,  black  eyes,  and  looked  in  the 
face  of  Legree,  with  an  expression  that  went  through  his 
bones,  as  she  said,  "To  be  sure,  Simon,  who  are  they?  I  'd 
like  to  have  you  tell  me.  You  don't  know,  I  suppose !" 

With  an  oath,  Legree  struck  at  her  with  his  riding  whip; 
but  she  glided  to  one  side,  and  passed  through  the  door, 
and  looking  back,  said,  "If  you  '11  sleep  in  that  room,  you'll 
know  all  about  it.  Perhaps  you  'd  better  try  it !"  and  then 
immediately  shut  and  locked  the  door. 

Legree  blustered  and  swore,  and  threatened  to  break 
down  the  door;  but  apparently  thought  better  of  it,  and 
walked  uneasily  into  the  sitting-room.  Cassy  perceived 
that  her  shaft  had  struck  home;  and,  from  that  hour,  with 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  271 

the  most  exquisite  address,  she  never  ceased  to  continue 
the  train  of  influences  she  had  hegun. 

In  a  knothole  in  the  garret  she  had  inserted  the  neck  of 
an  old  bottle,  in  such  a  manner  that  when  there  was  the 
least  wind,  most  doleful  and  lugubrious  wailing  sounds 
proceeded  from  it,  which,  in  a  high  wind,  increased  to  a 
perfect  shriek,  such  as  to  credulous  and  superstitious  ears 
might  easily  seem  to  be  that  of  horror  and  despair. 

These  sounds  were,  from  time  to  time,  heard  by  the 
servants,  and  revived  in  full  force  the  memory  of  the  old 
ghost  legend.  A  superstitious  creeping  horror  seemed  to 
fill  the  house;  and  though  no  one  dared  to  breathe  it  to 
Legree,  he  found  himself  encompassed  by  it,  as  by  an 
atmosphere. 

A  night  or  two  after  this,  Legree  was  sitting  in  the  old 
sitting-room,  by  the  side  of  a  flickering  wood  fire,  that 
threw  uncertain  glances  round  the  room.  It  was  a  stormy, 
windy  night,  such  as  raises  whole  squadrons  of  nondescript 
noises  in  rickety  old  houses.  Windows  were  rattling,  shut- 
ters flapping,  the  wind  carousing,  rumbling,  and  tumbling 
down  the  chimney,  and,  every  once  in  a  while,  puffing  out 
smoke  and  ashes,  as  if  a  legion  of  spirits  were  coming  after 
them.  Legree  had  been  casting  up  accounts  and  reading 
newspapers  for  some  hours,  while  Gassy  sat  in  the  corner, 
sullenly  looking  into  the  fire.  Legree  laid  down  his  paper, 
and  seeing  an  old  book  lying  on  the  table,  which  he  had 
noticed  Gassy  reading,  the  first  part  of  the  evening,  took  it 
up,  and  began  to  turn  it  over.  It  was  one  of  those  collec- 
tions of  stories  of  bloody  murders,  ghostly  legends,  and 
supernatural  visitations,  which,  coarsely  got  up  and  illus- 

18— Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


272  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

trated,  have  a  strange  fascination  for  one  who  once  begini 
to  read  them. 

Legree  poohed  and  pished,  but  finally,  after  reading 
some  way,  he  threw  down  the  book,  with  an  oath. 

"You  don't  believe  in  ghosts,  do  you,  Cass  ?"  said  he. 

"Xo  matter  what  I  believe,"  said  Gassy,  sullenly. 

"Them  noises  was  nothing  but  rats  and  the  wind,"  said 
Legree.  "Lord's  sake !  ye  can  make  anything  out  o'  wind." 

Gassy  knew  Legree  was  uneasy  under  her  eyes,  and, 
therefore,  she  made  no  answer,  but  sat  fixing  them  on  him, 
with  that  strange,  unearthly  expression,  as  before. 

"Come,  speak  out,  woman, — don't  you  think  so?"  said 
Legree. 

"Can  rats  walk  down  stairs,  and  come  walking  through 
the  entry,  and  open  a  door  when  you  've  locked  it  and  set 
a  chair  against  it?"  said  Gassy;  "and  come  walk,  walk, 
walking  right  up  to  your  bed,  and  put  out  their  hand,  so  ?" 

Gassy  kept  her  glittering  eyes  fixed  on  Legree,  as  she 
spoke,  and  he  stared  at  her  like  a  man  in  the  nightmare, 
till,  when  she  finished  by  laying  her  hand,  icy  cold,  on  his, 
he  sprung  back,  with  an  oath. 

"Woman,  what  do  you  mean?    Kobody  did?" — 

"0,  no, — of  course  not, — did  I  say  they  did  ?"  said  Gassy. 

Legree  stamped  his  foot,  and  swore  violently. 

"Don't  swear,"  said  Gassy;  "nobody  knows  who  may  be 
hearing  you.  Hark!  What  was  that!" 

"What?"  said  Legree,  starting. 

A  heavy  old  Dutch  clock,  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  the 
room,  began,  and  slowly  struck  twelve. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  Legree  neither  spoke  nor 
moved;  a  vague  horror  fell  on  him;  while  Gassy,  with  a 


to 
.2 

I 


273. 


274  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

keen,  sneering  glitter  in  her  eyes,  stood  looking  at  him, 
counting  the  strokes. 

"Twelve  o'clock ;  well,  now  we  '11  see/'  said  she,  turning, 
and  opening  the  door  into  the  passageway. 

"Simon,  come  here,"  said  Gassy,  in  a  whisper,  laying 
her  hand  on  his,  and  leading  him  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs ; 
"do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  Hark !" 

A  wild  shriek  came  pealing  down  the  stairway.  It  came 
from  the  garret.  Legree's  knees  knocked  together;  his 
face  grew  white  with  fear. 

"Had  n't  you  better  get  your  pistols  ?"  said  Gassy,  with 
a  sneer  that  froze  Legree's  blood.  "It  's  time  this  thing 
was  looked  into,  you  know.  I  'd  like  to  have  you  go  up 
now;  they  're  at  it." 

"I  won't  go !"  said  Legree,  with  an  oath. 

"Why  not?  There  an't  any  such  thing  as  ghosts,  you 
know!  Come!"  and  Gassy  flitted  up  the  winding  stairway, 
laughing,  and  looking  back  after  him.  "Come  on." 

"I  believe  you  are  the  devil !"  said  Legree.  "Come  back, 
you  hag, — come  back,  Cass !  You  shan't  go !" 

But  Gassy  laughed  wildly,  and  fled  on.  He  heard  her 
open  the  entry  doors  that  led  to  the  garret.  A  wild  gust 
of  wind  swept  down,  extinguishing  the  candle  he  held  in 
his  hand,  and  with  it  the  fearful,  unearthly  screams ;  they 
seemed  to  be  shrieked  in  his  very  ear. 

Legree  fled  frantically  into  the  parlor,  whither,  in  a  few 
moments,  he  was  followed  by  Gassy,  pale,  calm,  cold  as  an 
avenging  spirit,  and  with  that  same  fearful  light  in  her 
eye. 

"I  hope  you  are  satisfied,"  said  she. 

"Blast  you,  Cass !"  said  Legree. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  275 

"What  for  ?"  said  Gassy.  "I  only  went  up  and  shut  the 
doors.  What 's  the  matter  with  that  garret,  Simon,  do  you 
suppose  ?"  said  she. 

"None  of  your  business !"  said  Legree. 

"0,  it  an't?  Well,"  said  Gassy,  "at  any  rate,  I'm  glad 
1  don't  sleep  under  it." 

Anticipating  the  rising  of  the  wind,  that  very  evening, 
Gassy  had  heen  up  and  opened  the  garret  window.  Of 
course,  the  moment  the  doors  were  opened,  the  wind  had 
drafted  down,  and  extinguished  the  light. 

This  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  game  that  Gassy 
played  with  Legree,  until  he  would  sooner  have  put  his 
head  into  a  lion's  mouth  than  to  have  explored  that  garret. 
Meanwhile,  Gassy  slowly  and  carefully  accumulated  there 
a  stock  of  provisions  sufficient  to  afford  subsistence  for 
some  time ;  and  transferred  a  greater  part  of  her  own  and 
Emmeline's  wardrobe.  All  things  being  arranged,  they 
only  waited  a  fitting  opportunity  to  put  their  plan  in 
execution. 

When  the  time  arrived,  Gassy  and  Emmeline  were  in  the 
room  of  the  latter,  busy  in  sorting  and  arranging  two 
small  bundles. 

"There,  these  will  be  large  enough,"  said  Gassy.  "Now- 
put  on  your  bonnet,  and  let's  start;  it's  just  about  the 
right  time." 

"Why,  they  can  see  us  yet,"  said  Emmeline. 

"I  mean  they  shall,"  said  Gassy,  coolly.  "Don't  you 
know  that  they  must  have  their  chase  after  us,  at  any  rate? 
The  way  of  the  thing  is  to  be  just  this: — We  will  steal  out 
of  the  back  door,  and  run  down  by  the  quarters.  Sambo 
or  Quimbo  will  be  sure  to  see  us.  They  will  give  chase, 


276  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

and  we  will  get  into  the  swamp ;  then,  they  can't  follow  us 
any  further  till  they  go  up  and  give  the  alarm,  and  turn 
out  the  dogs,  and  so  on;  and,  while  they  are  blundering 
round,  and  tumbling  over  each  other,  as  they  always  do, 
you  and  I  will  just  slip  along  to  the  creek,  that  runs  back 
of  the  house,  and  wade  along  in  it,  till  we  get  opposite  the 
back  door.  That  will  put  the  dogs  all  at  fault;  for  scent 
won't  lie  in  the  water.  Every  one  will  run  out  of  the  house 
to  look  after  us,  and  then  we  '11  whip  in  at  the  back  door, 
and  up  into  the  garret,  where  I  've  got  a  nice  bed  made  up 
in  one  of  the  great  boxes.  We  must  stay  in  that  garret  a 
good  while;  for,  I  tell  you,  he  will  raise  heaven  and  earth 
after  us.  He  '11  muster  some  of  those  old  overseers  on  the 
other  plantations,  and  have  a  great  hunt ;  and  they  '11  go 
over  every  inch  of  ground  in  that  swamp.  He  makes  it 
his  boast  that  nobody  ever  got  away  from  him.  So  let 
him  hunt  at  his  leisure." 

The  two  fugitives  glided  noiselessly  from  the  house,  and 
flitted,  through  the  gathering  shadows  of  evening,  along 
by  the  quarters.  As  Gassy  expected,  when  quite  clear 
the  verge  of  the  swamps  that  encircled  the  plantation, 
they  heard  a  voice  calling  to  them  to  stop.  It  was  not 
Sambo,  however,  but  Legree,  who  was  pursuing  them  with 
violent  execrations.  At  the  sound,  the  feebler  spirit  of 
Emmeline  gave  way;  and,  laying  hold  of  Cassy's  arm,  she 
said,  "0,  Cassy,  I  'm  going  to  faint !" 

"If  you  do,  I  '11  kill  you,"  said  Cassy,  drawing  a  small, 
glittering  stiletto,  and  flashing  it  before  the  eyes  of 
the  girl. 

The  diversion  accomplished  the  purpose.  Emmeline 
did  not  faint,  and  succeeded  in  plunging,  with  Cassy,  into 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


277 


a  part  of  the  labyrinth  of  swamp,  so  deep  and  dark  that  it 
was  perfectly  hopeless  for  Legree  to  think  of  following 
them,  without  assistance. 

"Well/'  said  he,  chuckling  brutally;  "at  any  rate, 
they've  got  themselves  into  a  trap  now — the  baggages! 
They  're  safe  enough.  They  shall  sweat  for  it !" 

"Hulloa,  there!  Sambo!  Quimbo!  All  hands!"  called  Le- 
gree, coming  to  the  quarters,  when  the  men  and  women 
was  just  returning  from_ 
work.  "There  's  two  run- 
aways in  the  swamps.  I  '11 
give  five  dollars  to  any  nig- 
ger as  catches  'em.  Turn 
out  the  dogs!  Turn  out 
Tiger,  and  Fury,  and  the 
rest!" 

"Mas'r,  shall  we  shoot 
'em,  if  we  can't  cotch 
'em?"  said  Sambo,  to 
whom  his  master  brought 
out  a  rifle. 

"You  may  fire  on  Cass, 
if  you  like;  but  the  gal,  not,"  said  Legree.  "And  now, 
boys,  be  spry  and  smart.  Five  dollars  for  him  that 
gets  "em;  and  a  glass  of  spirits  to  every  one  of  you, 
anyhow." 

The  whole  band,  with  the  glare  of  blazing  torches,  and 
whoop,  and  shout,  and  savage  yell,  of  man  and  beast,  pro- 
ceeded down  to  the  swamp,  followed,  at  some  distance,  by 
every  servant  in  the  house.  The  establishment  was,  of  a 


"The   hunt  is  begun." 


278  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

consequence,  wholly  deserted,  when  Gassy  and  Emmeline 
glided  into  it  the  back  way. 

"See  there!"  said  Emmeline,  pointing  to  Gassy;  "the 
hunt  is  begun !  Look  how  those  lights  dance  about !  Hark ! 
the  dogs!  Don't  you  hear?  If  we  were  only  there,  our 
chance  would  n't  be  worth  a  picayune.  0,  for  pity's  sake, 
do  let's  hide  ourselves.  Quick!" 

"There  's  no  occasion  for  hurry,"  said  Gassy,  coolly ; 
"'they  are  all  out  after  the  hunt, — that 's  the  amusement 
of  the  evening!  We'll  go  upstairs,  by  and  by.  Mean- 
while," said  she,  deliberately  taking  a  key  from  the  pocket 
of  a  coat  that  Legree  had  thrown  down  in  his  hurry, 
"meanwhile  I  shall  take  something  to  pay  our  passage." 

She  unlocked  the  desk,  took  from  it  a  roll  of  bills,  which 
she  counted  over  rapidly. 

"0,  don't  let 's  do  that !"  said  Emmeline. 

"Don't!"  said  Gassy;  "why  not?  Would  you  have  us 
starve  in  the  swamps,  or  have  that  that  will  pay  our  way 
to  the  free  States?  Money  will  do  anything,  girl."  And 
as  she  spoke^she  put  the  money  in  her  bosom. 

"It  would  be  stealing,"  said  Emmeline,  in  a  distressed 
whisper. 

"Stealing!"  said  Gassy,  with  a  scornful  laugh.  "They 
who  steal  body  and  soul  need  n't  talk  to  us.  Every  one  of 
these  bills  is  stolen, — stolen  from  poor,  starving,  sweating 
creatures,  who  must  go  to  the  devil  at  last,  for  his  profit. 
Let  him  talk  about  stealing !  But  come,  we  may  as  well  go 
up  garret;  I  've  got  a  stock  of  candles  there,  and  some 
books  to  pass  away  the  time.  You  may  be  pretty  sure  they 
won't  come  there  to  inquire  after  us.  If  they  do,  I  '11  play 
ghost  for  them." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  279 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  MARTYR. 

THE  escape  of  Gassy  and  Emmeline  irritated  the  be- 
fore surly  temper  of  Legree  to  the  last  degree ;  and 
his  fury,  as  was  to  be  expected,  fell  upon  the  de- 
fenceless head  of  Tom.  Had  not  this  man  braved  him, — 
steadily,  powerfully,  resistlessly, — ever  since  he  bought 
him? 

"I  hate  him !"  said  Legree,  that  night,  as  he  sat  up  in  his 
bed;  "I  hate  him!  And  is  n't  he  mine?  Can't  I  do  what  I 
like  with  him?  Who 's  to  hinder,  I  wonder?"  And  Legree 
clenched  his  fist,  and  shook  it,  as  if  he  had  something  in 
his  hands  that  he  could  rend  in  pieces. 

The  next  morning,  he  determined  to  say  nothing,  as  yet; 
to  assemble  a  party,  from  some  neighboring  plantations, 
with  dogs  and  guns;  to  surround  the  swamp,  and  go  about 
the  hunt  systematically.  If  it  succeeded,  well  and  good; 
if  not  he  would  summon  Tom  before  him,  and — his  teeth 
clenched  and  his  blood  boiled — then  he  would  break  that 

fellow  down,  or there  was  a  dire  inward  whisper,  to 

which  his  soul  assented. 

The  hunt  was  long,  animated,  and  thorough,  but  unsuc- 
cessful; and,  with  grave,  ironic  exultation,  Cassy  looked 


280  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

down  on  Legree,  as,  weary  and  dispirited,  he  alighted  from 
his  horse. 

"Now,  Quimbo,"  said  Legree,  as  he  stretched  himself 
down  in  the  sitting  room,  "you  jest  go  and  walk  that  Tom 
up  here,  right  away !  The  old  cuss  is  at  the  bottom  of  this 
yer  whole  matter ;  and  3  '11  have  it  out  of  his  old  black  hide, 
or  I  '11  know  the  reason  why !" 

Tom  heard  the  message  with  a  forewarning  heart;  for  he 
knew  all  the  plan  of  the  fugitives'  escape,  and  the  place  of 
their  present  concealment ; — he  knew  the  deadly  character 
of  the  man  he  had  to  deal  with,  and  his  despotic  power. 
But  he  felt  strong  in  God  to  meet  death,  rather  than  be- 
tray the  helpless. 

He  sat  his  basket  down  by  the  row,  and,  looking  up, 
said,  "Into  thy  hands  I  commend  my  spirit!  Thou  hast 
redeemed  me,  oh  Lord  God  of  truth!"  and  then  quietly 
yielded  himself  to  the  rough,  brutal  grasp  with  which 
Quimbo  seized  him. 

"Ay,  ay!"  said  the  giant,  as  he  dragged  him  along; 
"ye  '11  cotch  it,  now !  I  '11  boun'  Mas Ys  back 's  up  high ! 
No  sneaking  out,  now !  Tell  ye,  ye  '11  get  it,  and  no  mis- 
take !  See  how  you  '11  look,  now,  helpin'  Mas'r's  niggers  to 
run  away !  See  what  ye  '11  get !" 

"Well,  Tom !"  said  Legree,  walking  up,  and  seizing  him 
grimly  by  the  collar  of  his  coat,  and  speaking  through  his 
teeth,  in  a  paroxysm  of  determined  rage,  "do  you  know 
I've  made  up  my  mind  to  kill  you?" 

"It 's  very  likely,  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  calmly. 

"I  have,"  said  Legree,  with  grim,  terrible  calmness, 
"done — just — that — thing,  Tom,  unless  you'll  tell  me 
what  you  know  about  these  yer  gals  I" 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  281 

Tom  stood  silent. 

"D'  ye  hear?"  said  Legree,  stamping,  with  a  roar  like 
that  of  an  incensed  lion.  "Speak !" 

"I  han't  got  nothing  to  tell  Mas'r,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
slow,  firm,  deliberate  utterance. 

"Do  you  dare  to  tell  me,  ye  old  black  Christian,  ye  don't 
know  ?"  said  Legree. 

Tom  was  silent. 

"Speak  I"  thundered  Legree,  striking  him  furiously.  "Do 
you  know  anything?" 

"I  know,  Mas'r;  but  1  can't  tell  anything.    I  can  die!" 

Legree  drew  in  a  long  breath ;  and,  suppressing  his  rage, 
took  Tom  by  the  arm,  and,  approaching  his  face  almost  to 
his,  said,  in  a  terrible  voice,  "Hark  'e,  Tom ! — ye  think, 
'cause  I  've  let  you  off  before,  I  don't  mean  what  I  say ; 
but,  this  time,  I  've  made  up  my  mind,  and  counted  the 
cost.  You  've  always  stood  it  out  agin'  me :  now,  I  '11  con- 
quer ye,  or  kill  ye ! — one  or  t'  other.  I  '11  count  every  drop 
of  blood  there  is  in  you,  and  take  'em,  one  by  one,  till  ye 
give  up !" 

Tom  looked  up  to  his  master,  and  answered,  "Mas'r,  if 
you  was  sick,  or  in  trouble,  or  dying,  and  I  could  save  ye, 
I  'd  give  ye  my  heart's  blood ;  and,  if  taking  every  drop  of 
blood  in  this  poor  old  body  would  save  your  precious  soul, 
I  'd  give  'em  freely,  as  the  Lord  gave  his  for  me.  0,  Mas'r ! 
don't  bring  this  great  sin  on  your  soul !  It  will  hurt  you 
more  than  't  will  me!  Do  the  worst  you  can,  my  troubles 
'11  be  over  soon;  but,  if  ye  don't  repent,  yours  won't 
never  end." 

Legree  stood  aghast  and  looked  at  Tom. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.    It  was  but  a  moment. 


282 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin:  or 


One  hesitating  pause, — one  irresolute,  relenting  thrill, — 
and  the  spirit  of  evil  came  back,  with  seven-fold  vehe- 
mence; and  Legree,  foaming  with  rage,  smote  his  victim 
to  the  ground. 

Was  he  alone,  that  long  night,  whose  brave,  loving  spirit 
was  bearing  up,  in  that  old  shed,  against  buffeting  and 

brutal  stripes? 

Nay!  There  stood  by 
him  One, — seen  by  him 
alone, — "like  unto  the 
Son  of  God." 

"He  is  most  gone, 
Mas'r,"  said  Sambo,  touch- 
ed, in  spite  of  himself,  by 
the  patience  of  his  victim. 

"Pay  away,  till  he  gives 
up!  Give  it  to  him! — give 
it  to  him!"  shouted  Le- 
gree. "1 11  take  every  drop 
of  blood  he  has,  unless  he 
confesses !" 
"Give  It  to  him."  rpom  ODened  hig  eyegj 

and  looked  upon  his  master,  "Ye  poor  miserable  critter!" 
he  said,  "there  an't  no  more  ye  can  do!  I  for^ 
give  ye,  with  all  my  soul !"  and  he  fainted  entirely 
away. 

"I  b'lieve,  my  soul,  he's  done  for,  finally,"  said  Legre*, 
stepping  forward,  to  look  at  him.  "Yes,  he  is !  Well,  h'e 
mouth's  shut  up,  at' last, — that's  one  comfort!" 

Yet  Tom  was  not  quite  gone.  His  wondrous  words  and 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


283 


pious  prayers  had  struck  upon  the  hearts  of  the  imbrutod 
blacks,  who  had  been  the  instruments  of  cruelty  Upon 
him;  and.,  the  instant  Legree  withdrew,  they  took  him 


"We's  been  awful  wicked  to  ye." 


down,  and,  in  their  ignorance,  sought  to  call  him  back  to 
life, — as  if  that  were  any  favor  to  him. 

"Sartin,  we's  been  doin'  a  drefful  wicked  thing!"  said 
Sambo;  "hopes  MasYll  have  to  'count  for  it,  and  not  We." 

They  washed  his  wounds, — they  provided  a  rude  bed, 


284  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

of  some  refuse  cotton,  for  him  to  lie  down  on;  and  one 
of  them,  stealing  up  to  the  house,  begged  a  drink  of  brandy 
of  Legree,  pretending  that  he  was  tired,  and  wanted  it 
for  himself.  He  brought  it  back,  and  poured  it  down 
Tom's  throat. 

"0,  Tom!"  said  Quimbo,  "we's  been  awful  wicked  to 
ye!"' 

"I  forgive  ye,  with  all  my  heart!"  said  Tom,  faintly. 

"0,  Tom !  do  tell  us  who  is  Jesus,  anyhow?"  said  Sambo; 
- — "Jesus,  that's  been  a  standin'  by  you  so,  all  this  night! 
—Who  is  He?" 

The  words  roused  the  failing,  fainting  spirit.  He  poured 
forth  a  few  energetic  sentences  of  that  wondrous  One, — 
His  life,  His  death,  His  everlasting  presence,  and  power 
to  save. 

They  wept, — both  the  two  savage  men. 

"Why  didn't  I  never  hear  this  before?"  said  Sambo, 
"but  I  do  believe! — I  can't  help  it;  Lord  Jesus,  have 
mercy  on  us!" 

"Poor  critters!"  said  Tom,  "I'd  be  willing  to  bar  all 
I  have,  if  it'll  only  bring  ye  to  Christ !  0,  Lord !  give  me 
these  two  more  souls,  I  pray!" 

That  prayer  was  answered! 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  885 


CHAPTER  XU. 

THE  YOUNG   MASTER. 

THE  letter  of  Miss  Ophelia  to  Mrs.  Shelby  had,  by 
some  unfortunate  accident,  been  detained,  for  a 
month  or  two,  at  some  remote  postoffice  before  it 
reached  its  destination;  and,  of  course,  before  it  was  re- 
ceived, Tom  was  already  lost  to  view  among  the  distant 
swamps  of  the  Red  River. 

Mrs.  Shelby  was  deeply  grieved,  but  she  was  then  in  at- 
tendance on  the  sick-bed  of  her  husband.  A  little  later 
he  died,  and  then  the  large  amount  of  business  thrown 
upon  her  delayed  the  matter  for  a  while.  Then  she  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  the  lawyer  to  whom  Miss  Ophelia  had 
referred  her,  saying  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter, 
that  Tom  was  sold  at  a  public  auction,  and  that,  beyond 
receiving  the  money,  he  knew  nothing  of  the  affair. 

Neither  George  nor  Mrs.  Shelby  could  be  easy  at  this 
result,  and,  accordingly,  some  six  months  after,  the  latter, 
who  had  grown  from  a  boy  to  a  tall  young  man,  having 
business  for  his  mother,  down  the  river,  visited  New 
Orleans  in  hopes  of  discovering  Tom's  whereabouts,  and 
restoring  him. 

After  some  months  of  unsuccessful  search,  by  the  merest 
accident,  George  fell  in  with  a  man,  in  New  Orleans,  who 


286  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

happened  to  be  possessed  of  the  desired  information;  and 
with  his  money  in  his  pocket,  our  hero  took  steamboat 
for  Red  Biver,  resolving  to  find  out  and  re-purchase  his 
old  friend. 

He  was  soon  introduced  into  the  house,  where  he  found 
Legree  in  the  sitting  room. 

Legree  received  the  stranger  with  a  kind  of  surly  hospi- 
tality. 

"I  understand/'  said  the  young  man,  "that  you  bought, 
in  New  Orleans,  a  boy,  named  Tom.  He  used  to  be  on 
my  father's  place  and  I  came  to  see  if  I  couldn't  buy  him 
back." 

Legree's  brow  grew  dark,  and  he  broke  out  passion- 
ately: "Yes,  I  did  buy  such  a  fellow, — and  a  great 
bargain  I  had  of  it,  too!  The  most  rebellious,  saucy,  im- 
pudent dog!  Set  up  my  niggers  to  run  away,  got  off  two 
gals,  worth  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand  dollars  apiece. 
He  owned  to  that,  and  when  I  bid  him  tell  me  where  they 
was,  he  up  and  said  he  knew,  but  he  wouldn't  tell,  and 
stood  to  it,  though  I  gave  him  the  cussedest  flogging  I 
ever  gave  nigger  yet.  I  b'lieve  he's  trying  to  die;  but  I 
don't  know  as  he'll  make  it  out." 

"Where  is  he  ?"  said  George,  impetuously.  "Let  me  see 
him." 

"He  's  in  dat  ar  shed,"  said  a  little  fellow,  who  stood 
holding  George's  horse. 

Legree  kicked  the  boy,  and  swore  at  him;  but  George, 
without  saying  another  word,  turned  and  strode  to  the 
spot. 

Tom  had  been  lying  two  days  since  the  fatal  night;  not 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  287 

suffering,  for  every  nerve  of  suffering  was  blunted  and 
destroyed. 

Gassy,  who  had  glided  out  of  her  place  of  concealment, 
and,  by  over-hearing,  learned  the  sacrifice  that  had  been 
made  for  her  and  Emmeline,  had  been  there,  the  night 
before,  defying  the  danger  of  detection;  and,  moved  by  the 
few  last  words  which  the  affectionate  soul  had  yet  strength 
to  breathe,  the  dark,  despairing  woman  had  wept  and 
prayed. 

When  George  entered  the  shed,  he  felt  his  head  giddy 
and  his  heart  sick. 

"Is  it  possible, — is  it  possible?"  said  he,  kneeling  down 
by  him.  "Uncle  Tom,  my  poor,  poor  old  friend !" 

Something  in  the  voice  penetrated  to  the  ear  of  the 
dying.  He  moved  his  head  gently,  smiled,  and  said: 

"Jesus  can  make  a  dying  bed 

Feel  soft  as  downy  pillows  are." 

Tears  which  did  honor  to  his  manly  heart  fell  from  the 
young  man's  eyes,  as  he  bent  over  his  poor  friend. 

"0,  dear  Uncle  Tom!  do  wake, — do  speak  once  more! 
Look  up!  Here's  Mas'r  George, — your  own  little  Mas'r 
George.  Don't  you  know  me?" 

"Mas'r  George !"  said  Tom,  opening  his  eyes,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  feeble  voice;  "Mas'r  George!"  He  looked  be- 
wildered. 

Slowly  the  idea  seemed  to  fill  his  soul;  and  the  vacant 
eye  became  fixed  and  brightened,  the  whole  face  lighted 
up,  the  hard  hands  clasped,  and  tears  ran  down  the  cheeks. 
v  "Bless  the  Lord!  it  is,— it  is,— it's  all  I  wanted!  They 

19  -Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


288  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

haven't  forgot  me.  It  warms  my  soul;  it  does  my  old 
heart  good!  Now  I  shall  die  content!  Bless  the  Lord, 
oh  my  soul!" 

"You  shan't  die !  you  mustn't  die,  nor  think  of  it !  I've 
come  to  huy  you,  and  take  you  home,''  said  George,  with 
impetuous  vehemence. 

"0,  Mas'r  George,  ye're  too  late.  The  Lord's  bought 
me,  and  is  going  to  take  me  home, — and  I  long  to  go. 
Heaven  is  better  than  Kentuck." 

"0,  don't  die!  It'll  kill  me!— it'll  break  my  heart  to 
think  what  you've  suffered, — and  lying  in  this  old  shed, 
here!  Poor,  poor  fellow!" 

"Don't  call  me  poor  fellow!"  said  Tom,  solemnly.  "I 
have  been  poor  fellow;  but  that's  all  past  and  gone,  now. 
I  'm  right  in  the  door,  going  into  glory !  0,  Mas'r  George ! 
Heaven  has  come!  I've  got  the  victory! — the  Lord  Jesus 
has  given  it  to  me !  Glory  be  to  His  name !" 

George  was  awe-struck  at  the  force,  the  vehemence,  the 
power,  with  which  these  broken  sentences  were  uttered. 
He  sat  gazing  in  silence. 

Tom  grasped  his  hand,  and  continued, — "Ye  mustn't, 
now,  tell  Chloe,  poor  soul!  how  ye  found  me; —  'twould 
be  so  drefful  to  her.  Only  tell  her  ye  found  me  going  into 
glory;  and  that  I  couldn't  stay  for  no  one.  And  tell  her 
the  Lord's  stood  by  me  everywhere  and  al'ays,  and  made 
everything  light  and  easy.  And  oh,  the  poor  chil'en,  and 
the  baby! — my  old  heart's  been  most  broke  for  'em,  time 
and  agin!  Tell  'em  all  to  follow  me — follow  me!  Give 
my  love  to  Mas'r,  and  dear  good  Missis,  and  everybody  in 
•the  place!  Ye  don't  know!  Tears  like  I  loves  'em  all! 


'O,  Mas'r  George,,  ytfre  too  late." 


290  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

I  loves  every  creatur',  every  whar! — it's  nothing  but  love! 
0,  Mas'r  George !  what  a  thing  't  is  to  be  a  Christian !" 

At  this  moment,  Legree  sauntered  up  to  the  door  of 
the  shed,  looked  in,  with  a  dogged  air  of  affected  careless- 
ness, and  turned  away. 

At  this  moment,  the  sudden  flush  of  strength  which  the: 
joy  of  meeting  his  young  master  had  infused  into  the 
dying  man  gave  way.  A  sudden  sinking  fell  upon  him; 
he  closed  his  eyes ;  and  that  mysterious  and  sublime  change 
passed  over  his  face,  that  told  the  approach  of  other 
worlds. 

He  began  to  draw  his  breath  with  long,  deep  inspira- 
tions; and  his  broad  chest  rose  and  fell,  heavily.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  face  was  that  of  a  conqueror. 

"Who, — who, — who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of 
Christ?"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  contended  with  mortal 
weakness;  and,  with  a  smile,  he  fell  asleep. 

George  sat  fixed  with  solemn  awe.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  the  place  was  holy;  and,  as  he  closed  the  lifeless  eyes, 
and  rose  up  from  the  dead,  only  one  thought  possessed 
him, — that  expressed  by  his  simple  old  friend, — "What 
a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  Christian !" 

He  turned:   Legree  was  standing,  sullenly,  behind  him. 

Fixing  his  keen  dark  eyes  on  Legree,  he  simply  said, 
pointing  to  the  dead,  "You  have  got  all  you  ever  can  of 
him.  What  shall  I  pay  you  for  the  body?  I  will  take  it 
away,  and  bury  it  decently." 

"I  don't  sell  dead  niggers,"  said  Legree,  doggedly. 
"You  are  welcome  to  bury  him  where  and  when  you  like." 

"Boys,"  said  George,  to  two  or  three  negroes,  who  were 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  291 

looking  at  the  body,  "help  me  lift  him  up,  and  carry  him 
to  my  wagon;  and  get  me  a  spade." 

One  of  them  ran  for  a  spade;  the  other  two  assisted 
George  to  carry  the  body  to  the  wagon. 

George  spread  his  cloak  in  the  wagon,  and  had  the  body 
carefully  disposed  of  in  it,  then  he  turned,  fixed  his  eyes 
on  Legree,  and  said,  with  forced  composure, 

"I  have  not,  as  yet,  said  to  you  what  I  think  of  this  most 
atrocious  affair; — this  is  not  the  time  and  place.  But, 
sir,  this  innocent  blood  shall  have  justice.  I  will  proclaim 
this  murder.  I  will  go  to  the  very  first  magistrate,  and 
expose  you." 

"Do!"  said  Legree,  snapping  his  fingers,  scornfully. 
"Fd  like  to  see  you  doing  it.  Where  you  going  to  get 
witnesses  ? — how  you  going  to  prove  it  ? — Come,  now !" 

George  saw,  at  once,  the  force  of  this  defiance.  There 
was  not  a  white  person  on  the  place;  and,  in  all  southern 
courts,  the  testimony  of  colored  blood  is  nothing.  He 
felt,  at  that  moment,  as  if  he  could  have  rent  the  heavens 
with  his  heart's  indignant  cry  for  justice;  but  in  vain. 

"After  all,  what  a  fuss,  for  a  dead  nigger!"  said  Legree. 

The  word  was  as  a  spark  to  a  powder  magazine.  Pru- 
dence was  never  a  cardinal  virtue  of  the  Kentucky  boy. 
George  turned,  and,  with  one  indignant  blow,  knocked 
Legree  flat  upon  his  face. 

Beyond  the  boundaries  of  the  plantation,  George  had 
noticed  a  dry,  sandy  knoll,  shaded  by  a  few  trees:  there 
they  made  a  grave. 

"Shall  we  take  off  the  cloak,  Mas'r?"  said  the  negroes, 
when  the  grave  was  ready. 


292 


Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


"No,  no, — bury  it  with  him!  It's  all  I  can  give  you, 
now,  poor  Tom,  and  you  shall  have  it." 

They  laid  him  in;  and  the  men  shovelled  away,  silently. 
They  banked  it  up,  and  laid  green  turf  over  it. 

"You  may  go,  boys,"  said  George,  slipping  a  quarter 
into  the  hand  of  each.  They  lingered  about,  however. 

"Tf  young  Mas'r  would 
please  buy  us — "  said  one. 
"We  'd    serve    him    sd 
faithful !"  said  the  other. 

"Hard  times  here^ 
Mas'r!"  said  the  first. 
"Do,  Mas'r,  buy  us, 
please !" 

"I  can't!— I  can't!"  said 
George,  with  difficulty 
motioning  them  off;  it's 
impossible !" 

The  poor  fellows  looked 
dejected,  and  walked  off  in 
silence. 

"Witness,  eternal  God!" 
said  George,  kneeling  on 
the  grave  of  his  poorfriend; 
"oh,  witness,  that  from  this 
hour,  I  will  do  what  one  man  can  to  drive  out  this  curse 
of  slavery  from  my  land !" 

There  is  no  monument  to  mark  the  last  resting  place  of 
our  friend.  He  needs  none!  His  Lord  knows  where  he 
lies,  and  will  raise  him  up,  immortal,  to  appear  with  hint 
when  he  shall  appear  in  his  glory. 


"Witness,  eternal  God." 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  293 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

AN  AUTHENTIC   GHOST  STORY. 

THE  night  after  Tom's  body  had  been  carried  away, 
Legree  rode  to  the  next  town  for  a  carouse,  and 
had  a  high  one.  Got  home  late  and  tired;  locked 
his  door,  took  out  the  key,  and  went  to  bed.  He  slept 
soundly,  but  finally,  there  came  over  his  sleep  a  shadow,  a 
horror,  an  apprehension  of  something  dreadful  hanging 
over  him.  It  was  his  mother's  shroud,  he  thought;  but 
Gassy  had  it,  holding  it  up,  and  showing  it  to  him.  He 
heard  a  confused  noise  of  screams  and  groanings;  and, 
with  it  all,  he  knew  he  was  asleep,  and  he  struggled  to 
wake  himself.  He  was  half  awake.  He  was  sure  some- 
thing was  coming  into  his  room.  He  knew  the  door  was 
opening,  but  he  could  not  stir  hand  or  foot.  At  last  he 
turned,  with  a  start ;  the  door  was  open,  and  he  saw  a  hand 
putting  out  his  light. 

It  was  a  cloudy,  misty  moonlight,  and  there  he  saw  it ! — 
something  white  gliding  in!  He  heard  the  still  rustle  of 
its  ghostly  garments.  It  stood  still  by  his  bed; — a  cold 
hand  touched  his ;  a  voice  said,  three  times,  in  a  low,  fear- 
ful whisper,  "Come!  come!  come!"  And,  while  he  lay 
sweating  with  terror,  he  knew  not  when  or  how  the  thing 
was  gone.  He  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  pulled  at  the  door. 


294  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

It  was  shut  and  locked,  and  the  man  fell  down  in  a 
swoon. 

After  this,  Legree  became  a  harder  drinker  than  ever 
before.  He  no  longer  drank  cautiously,  prudently,  but 
imprudently  and  recklessly. 

By  a  singular  coincidence,  on  the  very  night  that  this 
vision  appeared  to  Legree,  the  house-door  was  found  open 
in  the  morning,  and  some  of  the  negroes  had  seen  two 
white  figures  gliding  down  the  avenue  towards  the  high- 
road. 

It  was  near  sunrise  when  Cassy  and  Emmeline  paused, 
for  a  moment,  in  a  little  knot  of  trees  near  the  town. 

Cassy  was  dressed  after  the  manner  of  the  Creole  Span- 
ish ladies, — wholly  in  black.  A  small  black  bonnet  on  her 
head,  covered  by  a  veil  thick  with  embroidery,  concealed 
her  face.  It  had  been  agreed  that,  in  their  escape,  she 
was  to  personate  the  character  of  a  Creole  lady,  and  Em- 
meline that  of  her  servant. 

Brought  up,  from  early  life,  in  connection  with  the 
highest  society,  the  language,  movements  and  air  of  Cassy, 
were  all  in  agreement  with  this  idea;  and  she  had  still 
enough  remaining  with  her,  of  a  once  splendid  wardrobe, 
and  sets  of  jewels,  to  enable  her  to  personate  the  thing  to 
advantage. 

She  stopped  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  she 
had  noticed  trunks  for  sale,  and  purchased  a  handsome 
one.  This  she  requested  the  man  to  send  along  with  her. 
And,  accordingly,  thus  escorted  by  a  boy  wheeling  her 
trunk,  and  Emmeline  behind  her,  carrying  her  carpet- 
bag and  sundry  bundles,  she  made  her  appearance  at  the 
small  tavern,  like  a  lady  of  consideration. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


295 


The  first  person  that  struck  her,  after  her  arrival,  was 
George  Shelby,  who  was  staying  there,  awaiting  the  next 
boat. 

Towards  evening,  a  boat  arrived,  and  George  handed 
Gassy  aboard,  with  the  politeness  of  a  Kentuckian,  and 


"It  stood  still  by  his  bed." 


exerted  himself  to  provide  her  with  a  good  state-room. 

Gassy  kept  her  room  and  bed,  on  pretext  of  illness,  dur- 
ing the  whole  time  they  were  on  Eed  Eiver;  and  was 
waited  on,  with  obsequious  devotion,  by  her  attendant. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  Mississippi  river,  George, 


296  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

having  learned  that  the  course  of  the  strange  lady  was 
upward,  like  his  own,  proposed  to  take  a  state-room  for 
her  on  the  same  boat  with  himself,  and  the  whole  party 
was  transferred  to  the  good  steamer  Cincinnati. 

From  the  moment  that  George  got  the  first  glimpse  of 
her  face,  he  was  troubled  with  one  of  those  fleeting  and 
indefinite  likenesses,  which  almost  everybody  can  remem- 
ber, and  has  been,  at  times  perplexed  with.  He  could  not 
keep  himself  from  looking  at  her,  and  watching  her  per- 
petually. 

Cassy  became  uneasy,  and  finally  resolved  to  throw  her- 
self entirely  on  his  generosity,  and  intrusted  him  with  her 
whole  history. 

George  was  heartily  disposed  to  sympathize  with  her, 
and  assured  her  that  he  would  do  all  in  his  power  to 
protect  her. 

The  next  state-room  to  Cassy's  was  occupied  by  a  French 
lady,  named  De  Thoux,  who  was  accompanied  by  a  fine 
little  daughter,  a  child  of  some  twelve  summers. 

One  day,  hearing  that  George  was  from  Kentucky,  she 
asked  him  if  he  knew  a  man  by  the  name  of  Harris. 

"There  is  an  old  fellow,  of  that  name,  lives  not  far  from 
my  father's  place,"  said  George. 

"Did  vou  ever  know  of  his  having  a  mulatto  boy,  named 
George?" 

"0,  certainly, — George  Harris, — I  know  him  well;  he 
married  a  servant  of  my  mother's,  but  has  escaped,  now, 
to  Canada." 

"He  has?"  said  Madame  de  Thoux,  quickly.  "Thank 
God!" 

George  looked  a  surprised  inquiry,  but  said  nothing. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  297 

Madame  de  Thoux  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand,  and 
.burst  into  tears. 

"He  is  my  brother,"  she  said. 

"Madame!"  said  George,  with  a  strong  accent  of  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes,"  said  Madame  de  Thoux,  lifting  her  head,  proudly, 
and  wiping  her  tears;  "Mr.  Shelby,  George  Harris  is  my 
brother!" 

"I  am  perfectly  astonished,"  said  George. 

"I  was  sold  to  the  South  when  he  was  a  boy,"  said  she. 

"I  was  bought  by  a  good  and  generous  man.    He  took  me 

with  him  to  the  West  Indies,  set  me  free,  and  married  me. 

•  It  is  but  lately  that  he  died;  and  I  was  coming  up  to 

Kentucky,  to  see  if  I  could  find  and  redeem  my  brother." 

"I  have  heard  him  speak  of  a  sister  Emily,  that  was  sold 
South,"  said  George. 

"Yes,  indeed!  I  am  the  one,"  said  Madame  de  Thoux; — 
"tell  me  what  sort  of  a " 

"A  very  fine  young  man,"  said  George,  "notwithstand- 
ing the  curse  of  slavery  that  lay  on  him.  He  sustained 
a  first  rate  character,  both  for  intelligence  and  principle. 
I  know,  you  see,"  he  said;  "because  he  married  in  our 
family." 

"What  sort  of  a  girl  ?"  said  Madame  de  Thoux,  eagerly. 

"A  treasure,"  said  George;  "a  beautiful,  intelligent, 
amiable  girl.  Very  pious.  My  mother  had  brought  her 
up,  and  trained  her  as  carefully,  almost,  as  a  daughter. 
She  could  read  and  write,  embroider  and  sew,  beautifully; 
and  was  a  beautiful  singer." 

"Was  she  born  in  your  house  ?"  said  Madame  de  Thoux. 

"No.     Father  bought  her  once,  in  one  of  his  trips  to 


298  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

New  Orleans,  and  brought  her  up  as  a  present  to  mother. 
She  was  about  eight  or  nine  years  old,  then.  Father 
would  never  tell  mother  what  he  gave  for  her;  but,  the 
other  day,  in  looking  over  his  old  papers,  we  came  across 
the  bill  of  sale.  He  paid  an  extravagant  sum  for  her,  to 
be  sure.  I  suppose,  on  account  of  her  extraordinary 
beauty." 

George  sat  with  his  back  to  Gassy,  and  did  not  see  the 
absorbed  expression  of  her  countenance,  as  he  was  giving 
these  details. 

At  this  point  in  the  story,  she  touched  his  arm,  and. 
with  a  face  perfectly  white  with  interest,  said,  "Do  you 
know  the  names  of  the  people  he  bought  her  of?" 

"A  man  of  the  name  of  Simmons,  I  think,  was  the  prin- 
cipal in  the  transaction.  At  least,  I  think  that  was  the 
name  on  the  bill  of  sale." 

"0,  my  God!"  said  Gassy,  and  fell  insensible  on  the 
floor  of  the  cabin. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  299 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

RESULTS. 

THE  rest  of  our  story  is  soon  told.  George  Shelby  sent 
to  Gassy  the  bill  of  sale  of  Eliza;  whose  date  and 
name  all  corresponded  with  her  own  knowledge  of 
facts,  and  left  no  doubt  upon  her  mind  as  to  the  identity 
of  her  child.  It  remained  now  only  for  her  to  trace  out  the 
path  of  the  fugitives. 

Madame  de  Thoux  and  she,  thus  drawn  together  by  the 
singular  coincidence  of  their  fortunes,  proceeded  immedi- 
ately to  Canada,  and  began  a  tour  of  inquiry  among  the 
stations,  where  the  numerous  fugitives  from  slavery  are 
located.  At  Amherstberg  they  found  the  missionary  with 
whom  George  and  Eliza  had  'taken  shelter,  on  their  first 
arrival  in  Canada;  and  through  him  were  enabled  .to  trace 
the  family  to  Montreal. 

George  and  Eliza  had  now  been  five  years  free.  George 
had  found  constant  occupation  in  the  shop  of  a  worthy 
machinist,  where  he  had  been  earning  a  competent  sup- 
port for  his  family,  which,  in  the  meantime,  had  been 
increased  by  the  addition  of  another  daughter. 

Little  Harry — a  fine  bright  boy — had  been  put  to  a 
good  school,  and  was  making  rapid  proficiency  in  knowl- 
edge. 


300  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 

The  worthy  pastor  of  the  station,  in  Amherstberg. 
where  George  had  first  landed,  was  so  much  interested  in 
the  statements  of  Madame  de  Thoux  and  Gassy,  that  he 
yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  the  former,  to  accompany 
them  to  Montreal,  in  their  search. 

The  scene  now  changes  to  a  small,  neat  tenement,  in 
the  outskirts  of  Montreal. 

"Come,  George/'  said  Eliza,  "you've  been  gone  all  day. 
Do  put  down  that  book,  and  let's  talk,  while  I'm  getting 
tea,— do." 

And  little  Eliza  seconds  the  effort,  by  toddling  up  to 
her  father,  and  trying  to  pull  the  book  out  of  his  hand. 

"0,  you  little  witch !"  says  George,  yielding. 

"That's  right,"  says  Eliza,  as  she  begins  to  cut  a  loaf  of 
bread. 

"Harry,  my  boy,  how  did  you  come  on  in  that  sum, 
to-day?"  says  George,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  son's 
head. 

"I  did  it,  every  bit  of  it,  myself,  father;  and  nobody 
helped  me!" 

"That's  right,"  says  his  father;  "depend  on  yourself, 
my  sons  You  have  a  better  chance  than  ever  your  poor 
father  had." 

At  this  moment,  there  is  a  rap  at  the  door;  and  Eliza 
goes  and  opens  it.  The  delighted — "Why! — this  you?" — 
calls  up  her  husband;  and  the  good  pastor  of  Amherstberg 
is  welcomed.  There  are  two  women  with  him,  and  Eliza 
asks  them  to  sit  down. 

The  honest  pastor  had  arranged  a  little  programme  for 
the  occasion  and  had  prepared  his  speech,  but  Madame 
de  Thoux  upset  the  whole  plan,  by  throwing  her  arms 


Life  Xmong  the  Lowly. 


301 


around  George's  neck,  and  letting  all  out  at  once,  saying, 

"0,  George !  don't  you  know  me  ?    I'm  your  sister  Emily." 

Gassy  had  seated  herself  more  composedly  and  would 


"Depend  on  yourself,  my  son." 

have  carried  on  her  part  very  well,  had  not  little  Eliza 
suddenly  appeared  before  her  in  exact  shape  and  form, 
every  outline  and  curl,  just  as  her  daughter  was  when  she 


302  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

saw  her  last.  The  little  thing  peered  up  in  her  face;  ant] 
Gassy  caught  her  up  in  her  arms,  pressed  her  to  her 
bosom,  saying,  what  at  the  moment  she  really  believed. 
"Darling,  I'm  your  mother!" 

The  good  pastor,  at  last,  succeeded  in  getting  every- 
body quiet,  and  delivering  the  speech  with  which  he  had 
intended  to  open  the  exercises;  and  then  they  knelt  to- 
gether, and  the  good  man  prayed. 

In  two  or  three  days,  such  a  change  has  passed  over 
Gassy,  that  our  readers  would  scarcely  know  her.  The 
little  one  was  a  bond  between  mother  and  daughter,  and 
Eliza's  steady,  consistent  piety  made  her  a  proper  guide 
for  the  shattered  and  wearied  mind  of  her  mother.  Gassy 
yielded  at  once,  and  with  her  whole  soul,  to  every  good 
influence,  and  became  a  devout  and  tender  Christian. 

After  a  day  or  two,  Madame  de  Thoux  told  her  brother 
more  particularly  of  her  affairs.  The  death  of  her  hus- 
band had  left  her  an  ample  fortune,  which  she  generously 
offered  to  share  with  the  family.  When  she  asked  George 
what  way  she  could  best  apply  it  for  him,  he  answered, 
"Give  me  an  education,  Emily;  that  has  always  been  my 
heart's  desire.  Then,  I  can  do  all  the  rest." 

On  mature  deliberation,  it  was  decided  that  the  whole 
family  should  go,  for  some  years,  to  France;  whither  they 
sailed,  carrying  Emmeline  with  them. 

The  good  looks  of  the  latter  won  the  affection  of  the  first 
mate  of  the  vessel;  and,  shortly  after  entering  the  port, 
she  became  his  wife. 

George  remained  four  years  at  a  French  university,  and, 
applying  himself  with  an  unintermitted  zeal,  obtained  a 
very  thorough  education. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  303 

Political  troubles  in  France,  at  last,  led  the  family  again 
to  seek  an  asylum  in  this  country. 

A  little  later,  George,  with  his  wife,  children,  sister  and 
mother,  embarked  for  Africa,  and  finally  settled  in  Li- 
beria, where  he  became  a  teacher  of  Christianity.  Some 
inquiries  set  on  foot  by  Madame  de  Thoux  resulted  in  the 
discovery  of  Cassy's  son.  Being  a  young  man  of  energy, 
he  had  escaped,  some  years  before  his  mother,  and  had 
been  received  and  educated  by  friends  of  the  oppressed  in 
the  North.  He,  too,  sailed  for  Africa,  and  eventually 
joined  his  mother  and  sister. 

Miss  Ophelia  took  Topsy  home  to  Vermont  with  her, 
and  the  child  rapidly  grew  in  favor  with  the  family  and 
neighborhood.  At  the  age  of  womanhood  she  became  a 
member  of  the  Christian  church  in  the  place;  and  showed 
so  much  intelligence,  activity  and  zeal,  and  desire  to  do 
good  in  the  world,  that  she  was  at  last  sent  as  a  missionary 
to  one  of  the  stations  in  Africa. 


SO— Uncle   Tom's  Cabin. 


304  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  or 


CHAPTEE  XT/TV. 

THE  LIBERATOR. 

GEORGE  SHELBY  had  written  to  his  mother  stating 
the  day  that  she  might  expect  him  home.  Of 
the  death  scene  of  his  old  friend  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  write. 

Mrs.  Shelby  was  seated  in  her  comfortable  parlor,  where 
a  cheerful  fire  was  dispelling  the  chill  of  the  late  autumn 
evening.  A  supper-table,  glittering  with  plate  and  cut 
glass,  was  set  out,  on  whose  arrangements  our  former 
friend,  old  Chloe,  was  presiding. 

Arrayed  in  a  new  calico  dress,  with  clean,  white  apron, 
and  high,  well-starched  turban,  her  black  polished  face 
glowing  with  satisfaction,  she  lingered,  with  needless 
punctiliousness,  around  the  arrangements  of  the  table, 
merely  as  an  excuse  for  talking  a  little  to  her  mistress. 

"Laws,  now!  won't  it  look  natural  to  him?"  she  said. 
"Thar, — I  set  his  plate  just  whar  he  likes  it, — round  by 
the  fire.  Mas'r  George  allers  wants  de  war^n  seat.  0,  go 
way! — why  didn't  Sally  get  out  de  best  tea-pot, — de  little 
new  one,  Mas'r  George  got  for  Missis,  Christmas?  I'll 
have  it  out!  And  Missis  has  heard  from  Mas'r  George?" 
she  aaid,  inquiringly. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  305 

"Yes,  Chloe;  but  only  a  line,  just  to  say  he  would  be 
home  to-night,  if  he  could, — that's  all/' 

"Didn't  say  nothin'  'bout  my  old  man,  s'pose?"  said 
Chloe,  still  fidgeting  with  the  tea-cups. 

"No,  he  didn't.  He  did  not  speak  of  anything,  Chloe. 
He  said  he  would  tell  all,  when  he  got  home." 

"Jes  like  Mas'r  George, — he's  allers  so  ferce  for  tellin' 
everything  hisself.  I  allers  minded  dat  ar  in  Mas'r 
George.  Don't  see,  for  my  part,  how  white  people  gen'llv 
can  bar  to  hev  to  write  things  much  as  they  do,  writin'  's 
such  slow,  oneasy  kind  o'  work." 

Mrs.  Shelby  smiled. 

"I'm  a  thinkin'  my  old  man  won't  know  de  boys  and 
de  baby.  Lor'!  she's  de  biggest  gal,  now, — good  she  is, 
too,  and  peart,  Polly  is.  She's  out  to  the  house,  now, 
watchin'  de  hoe-cake.  I's  got  jist  de  very  pattern  my  old 
man  liked  so  much,  a  bakin'.  Jist  sich  as  I  gin  him  the 
mornin'  he  was  took  off.  Lord  bless  us !  how  I  felt,  dat  ar 
morning!" 

Mrs.  Shelby  sighed,  and  felt  a  heavy  weight  on  her 
heart,  at  this  allusion.  She  had  felt  uneasy,  ever  since 
she  received  her  son's  letter,  lest  something  should  prove 
to  be  hidden  behind  the  veil  of  silence  which  he  had 
drawn. 

"Missis  has  got  dem  bills?"  said  Chloe,  anxiously 

"Yes,  Chloe." 

"Cause  I  wants  to  show  my  old  man  dem  very  bills  de 
perfectioner  gave  me.  'And/  says  he,  'Chloe,  I  wish 
you'd  stay  longer/  'Thank  you,  Mas'r/  says  I,  'I  would, 
only  my  old  man's  coming  home,  and  Missis, — she  can't 


306  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

do  without  me  no  longer.'  There  's  jist  what  I  telled  him. 
Berry  nice  man,  dat  Mas'r  Jones  was." 

Chloe  had  pertinaciously  insisted  that  the  very  bills  in 
which  her  wages  had  been  paid  should  be  preserved,  to 
show  to  her  husband,  in  memorial  of  her  capability.  And 
Mrs.  Shelby  had  readily  consented  to  humor  her  in  the  re- 
quest. 

"He  won't  know  Polly, — my  old  man  won't.  Laws,  it's 
five  year  since  they  tuck  him!  She  was  a  baby  den, — 
couldn't  but  jist  stand.  Remember  how  tickled  he  used 
to  be,  cause  she  would  keep  a  fallin'  over,  when  she  sot 
out  to  walk.  Laws  a  me!" 

The  rattling  of  wheels  now  was  heard. 

"Mas'r  George!"  said  Aunt  Chloe,  starting  to  the  win- 
dow. 

Mrs.  Shelby  ran  to  the  entry  door,  and  was  folded  in  the 
arms  of  her  son.  Aunt  Chloe  stood  anxiously  straining 
her  eyes  out  into  the  darkness. 

"0,  poor  Aunt  Chloe!"  said  George,  stopping  compas- 
sionately, and  taking  her  hard,  black  hand  between  both 
his;  "I'd  have  given  all  my  fortune  to  have  brought  him 
with  me,  but  he's  gone  to  a  better  country." 

There  was  a  passionate  exclamation  from  Mrs.  Shelby, 
but  Aunt  Chloe  said  nothing. 

The  party  entered  the  supper-room.  The  money,  of 
which  Chloe  was  so  proud,  was  still  lying  on  the  table. 

"Thar,"  said  she,  gathering  it  up,  and  holding  it,  with 
a  trembling  hand,  to  her  mistress,  "don't  never  want  to 
see  nor  hear  on't  again.  Jist  as  I  knew't  would  be, — sold, 
and  murdered  on  dem  ar'  old  plantations !" 

Chloe  turned,  and  was  walking  proudly  out  of  the  room. 


Life  Among  the  Lowly. 


307 


Mrs.  Shelby  followed  her  softly,  and  took  one  of  her  hands, 
drew  her  down  into  a  chair,  and  sat  down  by  her. 

"My  poor,  good  Chloe!"  said  she. 

Chloe  leaned  her  head  on  her  mistress'  shoulder,  and 
sobbed  out,  "0  Missis !  'scuse  me,  my  heart's  broke, — dat's 
all!" 


"We  don't  want  to  be  no  freer  than  we  are." 

"I  know  it*  is,"  said  Mrs.  Shelby,  as  her  tears  fell  fast; 
"and  I  cannot  heal  it,  but  Jesus  can.  He  healeth  the 
broken  hearted,  and  bindeth  up  their  wounds." 

There  was  silence  for  some  time,  and  all  wept  together. 
At  last,  George,  sitting  down  beside  the  mourner,  took  her 


308  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;   or 

hand,  and,  with  simple  pathos,  repeated  the  triumphant 
scene  of  her  husband's  death,  and  his  last  message  of 
love. 

About  a  month  after  this,  one  morning,  all  the  servants 
of  the  Shelby  estate  were  convened  together  in  the  great 
hall  that  ran  through  the  house,  to  hear  a  few  words  from 
their  young  master. 

To  the  surprise  of  all,  he  appeared  among  them  with  a 
bundle  of  papers  in  his  hand,  containing  a  certificate  of 
freedom  to  every  one  on  the  place,  which  he  read  succes- 
sively, and  presented,  amid  the  sobs  and  tears  and  shouts 
of  all  present. 

Many,  however,  pressed  around  him,  earnestly  begging 
him  not  to  send  them  away;  and,  with  anxious  faces,  ten- 
dering back  their  free  papers. 

"We  don't  want  to  be  no  freer  than  we  are.  We's  allers 
had  all  we  wanted.  We  don't  want  to  leave  de  ole  place, 
and  Mas'r  and  Missis,  and  de  rest  I" 

"My  good  friends/'  said  George,  as  soon  as  he  could  get 
a  silence,  "there'll  be  no  need  for  you  to  leave  me.  The 
place  wants  as  many  hands  to  work  it  as  it  did  before, 
We  need  the  same  about  the  house  that  we  did  before. 
But  you  are  now  free  men  and  free  women.  I  shall  pay 
you  wages  for  your  work,  such  as  we  shall  agree  on.  The 
advantage  is,  that  in  case  of  my  getting  in  debt,  or  dying, 
— things  that  might  happen, — you  cannot  now  be  taken  up 
and  sold.  I  expect  to  carry  on  the  estate,  and  to  teach 
you  what,  perhaps,  it  will  take  you  some  time  to  learn, — 
how  to  use  the  rights  I  give  you  as  free  men  and  women. 
I  expect  yon  to  be  good,  and  willing  to  learn;  and  I  trust 


Life  Among  the  Lowly.  309 

in  God  that  I  shall  he  faithful,  and  willing  to  teach.  And 
now,  my  friends,  look  up,  and  thank  God  for  the  blessing 
of  freedom." 

An  aged,  patriarchal  negro,  who  had  grown  gray  and 
blind  on  the  estate,  now  rose,  and  lifting  his  trembling 
hand,  said,  "Let  us  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord!"  As  all 
kneeled  by  one  consent,  a  more  touching  and  hearty  To 
Deum  never  ascended  to  heaven,  though  borne  on  the  peal 
of  organ,  bell  and  cannon,  than  came  from  that  honest 
old  heart. 

"One  thing  more,"  said  George,  as  he  stopped  the  con- 
gratulations of  the  throng;  "you  all  remember  our  good 
old  Uncle  Tom?" 

George  here  gave  a  short  narration  of  the  scene  of  his 
death,  and  of  his  loving  farewell  to  all  on  the  place,  and 
added, 

"It  was  on  his  grave,  my  friends,  that  I  resolved,  before 
God,  that  I  would  never  own  another  slave,  while  it  was 
possible  to  free  him;  that  nobody,  through  me,  should 
ever  run  the  risk  of  being  parted  from  home  and  friends, 
and  dying  on  a  lonely  plantation,  as  he  died.  So,  when 
you  rejoice  in  your  freedom,  think  that  you  owe  it  to  that 
good  old  soul,  and  pay  it  back  in  kindness  to  his  wife  and 
children.  Think  of  your  freedom,  every  time  you  see 
Uncle  Tom's  Cabin;  and  let  it  be  a  memorial  to  put  you 
all  in  mind  to  follow  in  his  steps,  and  be  as  honest  and 
faithful  and  Christian  as  he  was." 


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THE    LITTLE    LAME    PRINCE.     By    Miss    Mulock. 
With  24  illustrations. 

THE  SLEEPY  KING.     By  Aubrey  Ilopwood  and  Sey- 
mour Hicks.     With  77  illustrations. 

RIP   VAN   WINKLE.     A   LEGEND  OF  THE    HUD- 
SON.    By  Washington  Irving.     With  46  illustrations. 

A  CHILD'S  GARDEN  OF  VERSES.     By  Robert  Louis 
Stevenson.     With  120  illustrations. 

ANIMAL  STORIES  FOR  LITTLE  PEOPLE.     With  50 
illustrations. 

ROMULUS,    the   Founder  of  Rome.     By  Jacob  Abbott. 
With  4'J  illustrations. 

CYRUS    THE    GREAT,   the    Founder    of    the    Persian 
Empire.     By  Jacob  Abbott.     With  40  illustrations. 

DARIUS  THE  GREAT,  King  of  the  Medcs  and  Persians. 
By  Jacob  Abbott.     With  34  illustrations. 

XERXES    THE    GREAT,   King    of   Persia.     By  Jacob 
Abbott.     With  39  illustrations. 

ALEXANDER  THE   GREAT,   King  cf  Maccdon.     By 
Jacob  Abbott.     With  51  illustrations. 


ALTEMUS'  YOUNG  PEOPLE'S  LIBRARY.  5 

PYRRHUS,  King   of  Epirus.     By  Jacob  Abbott.     With 
45  illustrations. 

HANNIBAL,     tho     Carthaginian.     By    Jacob     Abbott. 
With  87  illustrations. 

JULIUS    CAESAR,    the    Roman    Conqueror.      By   Jacob 
Abbott.     With  44  illustrations. 

ALFRED  THE  GREAT,  of  England.     By  Jacob  Abbott. 
With  40  illustrations. 

WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR,  of  England.     By  Jacob 
Abbott.     With  43  illustrations. 

IIERNANDO   CORTEZ,  the  Conqueror  of  Mexico.     By 
Jacob  Abbott.     With  30  illustrations. 

MARY,  QUEEN  OF  SCOTS.     By  Jacob  Abbott.     With 
45  illustrations. 

QUEEN  ELIZABETH,  of  England.     By  Jacob   Abbott. 
With  49  illustrations. 

KING  CHARLES  THE  FIRST,  of  England.     By  Jacob 
Abbott.     With  41  illustrations. 

KING    CHARLES    THE    SECOND,   of   England.      By 
Jacob  Abbott.     With  38  illustrations. 

MARIA  ANTOINETTE,  Queen  of  France.     By  John  S. 
C.  Abbott.     With  42  illustrations. 

MADAME  ROLAND,  A  Heroine  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion.    By  Jacob  Abbott.     With  42  illustrations. 


6  HENRY  ALTEMUS  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

ALTEMUS'  ILLUSTRATED 
Dainty  Series  of  Choice  Gift  Books 


Bound  in  half-white  vellum,  illuminated  sides,  unique 
designs  in  gold  and  colors,  with  numerous  half-tone 
illustrations.  Price,  50  cents. 

THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.     By  M.  Nataline  Crumpton. 

CHARLES  DICKENS'  CHILDREN  STORIES. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  SHAKESPEARE. 

YOUNG  ROBIN  HOOD.     By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

HONOR  BRIGHT.     By  Mary  C.  Rowsell. 

THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  MARY  ADAIR.  By  Frances 
E.  Crompton. 

THE  KINGFISHER'S  EGG.     By  L.  T.  Meade. 

TATTINE.     By  Ruth  Ogden. 

THE  DOINGS  OF  A  DEAR  LITTLE  COUPLE.  By 
Mary  D.  Brine. 

OUR  SOLDIER  BOY.     By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

THE  LITTLE  SKIPPER.     By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

LITTLE  GERVAISE  AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

THE  CHRISTMAS  FAIRY.     By  John  Strange  Winter. 

MOLLY  THE  DRUMMER  BOY.  By  Harriet  T.  Corn- 
stock. 

HOW  A  "  DEAR  LITTLE  COUPLE  "  WENT  ABROAD. 
By  Mary  D.  Brine. 


HENRY  ALTEMUS  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS.  7 

ALTEMUS' 

Little  Men  and  Women  Series 


A  new  series  for  young  people,  by  the  best  known  English 
and  American  authors.  Profusely  illustrated,  and 
with  handsome  and  appropriate  bindings.  Cloth, 
12mo,  $1.00. 

BLAqK  BEAUTY. 
By  Anna  Sewell. 

HIAWATHA. 

By  Henry  W.  Longfellow. 

ALICE  IN  WONDERLAND  AND    THROUGH  THE 
LOOKING  GLASS. 
By  Lewis  Carroll. 

PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA. 
By  Sainte  Pierre. 

GALOPOFF,  THE  TALKING  PONY 
By  Tudor  Jenks. 

GYPSY,  THE  TALKING  DOCr. 
By  Tudor  Jenks. 

CAPS  AND  CAPERS. 

By  Gabrielle  E.  Jackson. 

DOUGHNUTS  AND  DIPLOMAS. 
By  Gabrielle  E.  Jackson. 

FOR  PREY  AND  SPOILS. 
By  Frederick  A.  Ober. 


8  HENRY  ALTEMUS  COMPANY'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

TOMMY  FOSTER'S  ADVENTURES. 
By  Frederick  A.  Ober. 

TALES  FROM  SHAKESPEARE. 
By  Charles  and  Mary  Lamb. 

ELLIS'S  HISTORY  OF  UNITED  STATES 
By  Edward  S.  Ellis,  A.  M. 

ELLIS'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 
By  Edward  S.  Ellis,  A.  M. 

ELLIS'S  HISTORY  OF  FRANCE. 

By  EdwardS.  Ellis,  A.  M. 

ELLIS'S  HISTORY  OF  GERMANY. 
By  Edward  S.  Ellis,  A.  M. 

A  LITTLE  ROUGH  RIDER. 
By  Tudor  Jenks. 

ANOTHER    YEAR    WITH    DENISE     AND     NED 
TOODLES. 
By  Gabrielle  E.  Jackson. 

POOR  BOYS'  CHANCES. 
By  John  Habberton. 

SEA  KINGS  AND  NAVAL  HEROES. 

By  Hart  well  James. 

POLLY  PERKINS'S  ADVENTURES. 
By  E.  Louise  Liddell. 

FOLLY  IN  FAIRYLAND. 
By  Carolyn  Wells. 

FOLLY  IN  THE  FOREST. 
By  Carolyn  Wells. 

THE  LITTLE  LADY— HER  BOOK. 
By  Albert  Bigelow  Paine. 


